one-of-many-journeys

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 29 (1/2)

Bleeding Mark

I left Natikka and the other survivors of the flood just before sunrise, heading north to the war machine graveyard that Handa told me about.

Up on the cliff behind Bleeding Mark, I stopped at a broken down Tenakth watchtower, stocked with supplies and firelight. I looked back toward Gaia's peak on the border mountains. It's never too far away.

Riding up the ridge to the waterfall, clogged with fallen trees and other debris, I found Handa's promised salvage. There were plenty of ancient tanks up there, well-preserved, the corpses of their operators mummified within casings sealed for centuries.

Further searching; I found two more intact engine compartments full of useful scrap for Handa. I climbed the stone ridges beside shallow runnels and short rolling waterfalls, white and churning. Diminishing returns on the salvage as I climbed. Higher up, the area seemed untouched by battle.

I came across a herd nearby, overriding another Charger for the journey back down, this morning's ride left below. There was a large lake at the peak of the waterfalls, but not much else, just distant snow drifts and a frigid mountain range enclosing the lands.

Riding east down the mountainside, I crossed a cleared section of forest. This must be what the Oseram used to construct their camp. I wonder how the local Tenakth feel about their methods.

I glided down to the blighted plains where I'd fought the Plowhorns yesterday, hoping to salvage a primary nerve this time.

Unwanted Burrowers and Clawstriders still stalked the area, but they wouldn't stop me from getting at the Plowhorns. I went in quick, using an explosive shot to detonate its Purgewater sac, freezing it with frost bombs, then destroying it with a hail of bolts. Primary nerve scored! Finally. I even managed to harvest it before the other machines got too close.

My antics attracted both nearby Rollerbacks too, one of them launching itself toward me in a hurling disc of fire. Dodged and evaded; jumped back onto my mount and rode south at speed, heading for the second scrap site Handa noted in her contract.

I spotted another of the RCC survey drones at the edge of the desert, surveying another blighted patch of land. I stopped to collect it, along with a glinting Greenshine deposit by a watchtower on its path.

I managed to avoid the machines patrolling the area, pulling the drone from midair and harvesting its data for Gaia. Getting back to my mount, I rode a little further south to the scrap site.

A pair of Ravagers patrolled the area, as promised, and with a mixture of my Stalker shield and a well-placed smoke bomb, I was able to evade their suspicions and salvage some good quality engine parts from the old vehicle shells.

I rode back up north to Handa's camp, arriving in the afternoon to trade in the engine parts. She was her usual grateful, yet pompous self. I can't imagine an Oseram woman like her managed to rise to prominence without remarkable talent. I look forward to seeing what she'll come up with for Keruf's armour contest.

Quick rest in the camp as Handa got to work stripping the rust from the engine parts. One of the Oseram delvers wasn't at all pleased to have me around. Called me 'Handa's little helper'. Okay. Guess he was pissed I was taking away valuable contracts from the rest, though he also complained about them being too dangerous to get through alive. So which is it?

Later in the afternoon, I set off southward for Scalding Spear, riding through yet more rusted tanks (already picked clean by delvers) and onward to the desert. Time to restock and, hopefully, move on. There was no sign of any of Gaia's subfunctions in the ruins I've explored so far, but there are other Tenakth cities, all of them built on the largest structures of the Old Ones, it seems. One thorough search through the ruins of Scalding Spear, and I'll move on, now with the blessing of the desert clan Commander, if I can swing it. I figure it's the least Yarra can do after I returned water to the Wound, securing her rule.

I reached Scalding Spear in the evening, stopping by the smith to buy a weapon I'd been eyeing up for a while—a Shredder Gauntlet. The brace sits around the hand and forearm, extending into a lightweight mechanism stocked with disc-shaped ammo made to shatter and shred on impact, blades extending from the edge, shrapnel encased in the thinly woven exterior. I tried it out on one of the panels outside; tomorrow, it's time for machines.

It took me a second to get the hang of it; the ammo is magnetised, and with the right spin on the throw, it'll come arcing back around to lock back into the propulsion mechanism. I'll bet I could stock these discs with whatever I please: explosives, acid, shock charges. Just have to make sure it won't detonate in the holster.

Ducking back inside the city walls, I headed for Yarra's command post, hoping to search the main tower more thoroughly. Before I reached it, I checked on the Wound, still shallow, but filling faster. Looks the pipes are holding together, for now.

Jetakka sought me out there, seeming concerned. He told me that Drakka had come down from Arrowhand to check what was taking him so long with the water rations. Still the water that had returned was not enough to fill their usual transport containers, meant to service all the people of Arrowhand. When Drakka saw the water in the Wound, he stormed off in a rage to find the Commander, seeing it as proof that Yarra had indeed been withholding water on purpose. Before he could reach the command post, however, the city guards arrested him for tampering with the Wound's source. I guess Yarra couldn't let go of her accusations after all. She still believed that Drakka had done all this deliberately.

Jetakka led me up to the command tower, where the guards had dragged Drakka after hours of captivity to answer for his 'crime'. He and Yarra were deep in quarrel.

As soon as Drakka spotted me, he plead his case, all outrage. He'd sent his man, Ukktah, to search for an alternative source of water after he reported signs of one. That it was the source of the Wound itself, Drakka had no idea, and with all the soldiers lost in hunting tribute, I suppose he had no chance to search for Ukktah when he did not return.

Yarra wouldn't listen. Drakka wouldn't let one simple fact go: Yarra had lied to her people when the Wound ran dry. Better than withholding Arrowhand's rations from greed alone, but not by much in Drakka's eyes. Jetakka and I both tried to deescalate things, but it was too late. Their rivalry had been building for too long. It was a force now, barrelling toward collision. Drakka challenged Yarra there and then for leadership of the desert clan.

Yarra had to agree to maintain her strength as Commander, though I don't doubt that she's eager for a chance to put Drakka's power struggle to rest permanently.

Dismayed as I was, I knew I wasn't getting anywhere with them and was prepared to let them have their little showdown, but Jetakka pulled me aside and explained what Drakka's challenge really meant for the clan.

Both Drakka and Yarra would gather their loyalists, from Scalding Spear and Arrowhand, and do battle squad on squad. Scores of Tenakth fighting each other until one squad emerged victorious, having slaughtered all their rivals...Their numbers were already thin. Jetakka put it to me plainly: it would be the end of the clan.

How could Drakka be so thoughtless as to call this challenge now, put so many to their deaths? I thought he cared about the well-being of his people, but this is shameful. And Yarra, how can she go along with the rite? Would shutting down Drakka's challenge be such a blow that her rule would never recover?

Jetakka implored me once again to try and stop this madness. He told me to meet him at the Gate of the Vanquished, some sacred Tenakth site at the mouth of a defunct Cauldron. That'll be something to look into regardless of the outcome of this squabble. I agreed to meet him there tomorrow, once Yarra and Drakka had gathered their squads for battle. I doubt that I can sway them, but maybe the help I've lent both will count for something. Some sense, I hope. I don't want to watch either of them die tomorrow.

Drakka stormed out of the city gates, making for Arrowhand to gather his troops with the small party of soldiers he'd brought with him. Yarra stood stoic at her post, passing the word through her network of guards. I asked her permission to do what I came for, and it was granted.

Time to explore this 'Spear' that gave the city its name.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 28 (2/2)

Bleeding Mark

Kentokk was still alive when the water level reached the exit of the Gouge. He was still alive when I carried him out, when I laid him onto the sand red with ashblood, now with his blood, and when Natikka rushed over to hold his hand.

Kentokk was delirious; all he could do was murmur, death sounds, eyes fixed on Natikka. Then he went limp, silent. Natikka took his hand and wrapped it around the blade sheathed on his breast. I'd seen Drakka do the same to the fallen by the machine herds—a Tenakth rite, I assume. Ready for battle, even in death.

I sat there with her for a while. I was starting to recognise that wounded, unknown weakness of mine. I try not to think about Rost, most of the time. At least there's a body here for Natikka to 'bag and tag', as the Tenakth say. There was almost nothing left of Rost to bury.

Natikka told me more about Kentokk, about their training, the way he could always get the best out of her. In critique and compliments both he was phlegmatic yet sincere, deep down. All that Natikka knew, she owed to him.

I told her that Kentokk had regretted ordering Natikka to remain in Bleeding Mark to the last. She had been willing to accept his final order, but was now free to chase her dream all the way to the Grove. First, she said, the people here needed her leadership. Once they were back on their feet in Scalding Spear for recovery, and the rebuilding of Bleeding Mark was underway, only then would she pledge her blade to Herkarro.

The water levels had receded further in the intervening time, maybe even as a result of my little stunt in the Gouge. I was able to walk through the ruins of Bleeding Mark, though not without each step sinking inches into fresh red mud.

I found a datapoint now revealed in the rubble, likely swept out of the mines for the first time since its recording. The place was once a mercury mine, but the extraction practice produced toxic vapours that poisoned the local ecosystem. The datapoint detailed a proposition to doctor the mine's data to make it appear to the DCE (some ecological governing authority) that the practice was safe. They were going to hire someone to do it for them for a hefty fee; I guess such services were a lucrative venture back then. There must have been a great many corporations looking to hide the extent of the environmental damage they were causing from the authorities. Elisabet really had her work cut out for her.

I returned to the rest of the survivors, already informed of Kentokk's fate by Natikka. The mood was sombre for that reason, but hopeful. Most of their people lay buried or drowned, and though floods were certainly not the way of the desert, as was the clan's common saying, they were something close. The brutal way of the wilds; simple, final. But it doesn't have to be.

With Gaia restored, disasters like this will be prevented. Unnatural as a world without them may be, deaths like these need not occur given the power over the biosphere that Gaia was designed to hold.

Only one of the village children survived. One of dozens.

I slept there in the open with the survivors. I'll have to trust that Natikka can get the injured back to Scalding Spear soon. I believe she's more than capable.

I closed up that old weakness of mine. Back to scheduled task.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 28 (1/2)

Handa's Salvage Camp

I slept a little later than usual—past the sun, for once—after the late night spent hunting. I hopped on my Charger and rode north for Bleeding Mark, hoping to discover the cause of its people's absence in Scalding Spear and, if I was lucky, a sign of one of Gaia's subfunctions. I crossed a suspicious amount of water on the way; from the marshes around the Oseram camp to the muddy streams in my path, I wondered why Bleeding Mark relied on Scalding Spear for water at all. But it soon became clear that conditions here were far from ordinary.

Bleeding Mark was no more. The ruins it had been built around stood as they had for centuries, in rusted frames threaded with eager branches, but the Tenakth structures built around them had been tossed to the mud, dismantled to so many wooden beams and spiked thatch shelters. The entire village was flooded.

Riding past, I soon spotted a group of survivors resting on a raised stone plateau at the edge of the ruins. Many were injured, but the one who raced between them, taking charge of the desperate situation, was lucid and capable.

Her name was Natikka, one of the village soldiers, and though she was standoffish at first to an unwelcome outlander, once I convinced her that I was here to help, sent by the painter's apprentice from Scalding Spear to check on them she calmed and got straight to business.

An ashblood shortage in the capital, she explained, was evidently the least of their problems. Bleeding Mark had been taken by a sudden mudslide that crashed down the cliffs shielding the north and west of the village. It had happened two days prior, coinciding with that nasty storm that surged through when Yarra and I journeyed back from the source of the Wound. Since then, Natikka and the other able-bodied survivors had been pulling the injured and corpses both from the wreckage, but there were at least two other pockets of survivors out there still trapped, one on the cliffs and another on a pile of rubble by a herd of machines.

According to Natikka, this place used to be just as arid as the desert to the south, but with worsening storms over the past few years, the area had grown lush with alarming speed, disrupting their way of life. The flood had rushed through the rich red soil, poisoning the water with ashblood. All this, and the water wasn't even drinkable. These people will need to get themselves down to Scalding Spear if they're to survive much longer.

While Natikka tended to her people, I volunteered to search the ruins for other survivors and help them get back to the others on the roadside. As a final request, she asked me to look out for Kentok, the leader of Bleeding Mark.

I dove into the deluge. It was thick with ashblood and silt, like dragging myself through mud.

Scanning with my Focus, I spotted a group of three survivors trapped inside a rusted storage drum of some kind. Calling out to them, I told them to wait while I found a way for them to exit. Using my Pullcaster, I was able to shift the rubble in such a way to climb on top of the adjacent silo and leap to the other, but when I went to climb down and lower the ladder for the survivors, it snapped, sending me tumbling into the water with it. Then I was just as trapped as the rest of them.

Like Natikka, one of the survivors had a knee-jerk hostile reaction, but she soon calmed, explaining how they'd been swept in here by the force of the mudslide before the crack they'd slipped through was clogged up with now-immovable debris. I then set about my usual techniques, tugging down old support beams and ripping hatches away with my Pullcaster, putting undue faith in the ruin's structural integrity.

I soon delivered on my promise, giving the three survivors a path to climb and an exit into open air. From that vantage, I spotted one of the groups Natikka had described, huddled on an overturned shelter on dry land by the base of the northern cliffs, patrolled by Snapmaws and Burrowers.

Diving back into the water, I surfaced on a rusted island near the shore, taking out one of the Snapmaws as it swum over to investigate. I targeted its chillwater sac first with an explosive shot, then unloaded with my Boltblaster. This caught the attention of the survivors, who urged me to destroy the rest of the machines, as they had lost their weapons in the flood, not that I minded going solo.

I took out the Burrowers, also at a distance with my sharpshot bow, then battled the final Snapmaw after failing to catch it in the path of a boulder trap conveniently formed by the mudslide.

I used the same strategy as I had on the first, though had more trouble in close proximity. The Snapmaw got a good swipe in with its tail, which I was too concentrated on operating my Boltblaster to notice. No lasting harm done, and with the final machine dispatched, the Tenakth were free to disembark from their makeshift refuge.

A downpour came on suddenly during the fight and showed no signs of relent. Another storm scarred the desert skies in an angry red boil; no wonder there was a flood. The survivors pointed me up toward the eastern cliff, where a third group of survivors stood on an outcrop in danger of crumbling. The flood waters must have risen at least that high for them to have fled there for safety. There was no easy way to get to them now; the cliff walls were sheer and now slick with rain.

There was only one viable solution, but it was a long shot. On the south side of the outcrop was the huge, rusted hulk of an ancient crane. Seeing it, I began to form one of those dumb ideas that just might work. I have them often.

I got a good look at the mechanism from the vantage of the tallest ruins, then glided down and used my Pullcaster to dislodge a bunch of rubble keeping the body stuck up the far end of its track. That wasn't enough to dislodge it, but I spotted a Firegleam deposit underwater, the detonation of which would either free the mechanism to roll down as intended, or destroy the thing and cause it to fall forward into the cliff.

Hoping for the former, I dove in and primed my ignighter, setting the Firegleam to blow.

That did it! It was impressive watching the huge machine move. And loud. I dislodged some more debris from the arm of the crane to send it toppling forward. I was careful to estimate the length of the arm against the distance to the Tenakth on their outcrop, of course. Otherwise I'd be liable to crush them all.

Climbing onto the arm of the crane, I shot through the rusted cables locking the final extremity in place, and with that, the arm lowered itself fully, forming a near-perfect bridge for the Tenakth to use. Even I hadn't been anticipating such a perfect alignment.

There I met the last group of survivors. One of them had snapped his leg, but the others assured me they would be able to get him back safely now that I'd made a path at least most of the way to Natikka. I asked after Kentokk, just as I had asked the other survivors I met along the way. She gave me the same answer: not a clue. Without their leader, would the people of this settlement be able to find their footing, now on dry land?

I returned to Natikka, finding the survivors from the silo and the shore at her side. I broke the news about Kentokk, and she revealed why she was so desperate to find him, besides the fact that he was her squad leader.

Before the mudslide hit, she and Kentokk had been quarreling. It was Natikka's ambition to leave Bleeding Mark for the Grove, applying to a post as one of Hekarro's guards. This was a highly coveted position, guarding the Chief himself in the heart of all three clans.

This was my first hearing of the Grove, the seat of Tenakth power. It's another Old World ruin, no surprise, which honours the Ten, a group of the most powerful ancient warriors. Somehow I think there's a more historically accurate description out there, but I'll have to wait and see for myself if my travels take me there.

When Natikka told Kentokk of her plans, he balked, ordering her to remain in Bleeding Mark to serve her squad. There is no higher honour, he said. The argument turned bitter; words were exchanged and soon regretted, but by the time Natikka had recognised this and returned to Kentokk with the intent to make amends, on came the deluge. Natikka needed to find him and swear her allegiance once again to his squad.

The way she described Kentokk...it cut deep into a weakness I didn't know I had. His greatest lesson to Natikka, his best student, was to fight for duty, not glory. I knew just the sort of man she spoke of; he'd raised me.

One of the injured that Natikka was tending to came back to consciousness, recognising Kentokk's name. He said that Kentokk had been the one to save his life, pushing him from the path of an oncoming barrage of drowned rubble as it swept into the Gouge.

This was a ruin on the western edge of the village, a ruin carved into the mountain side that reached deep underground. The Wound, now the Gouge—must every impression in the landscape be a sign of violence wrought?

Jetakka had mentioned that the ruins here reached underground. If there was any chance of a subfunction hiding out here, it would be down there.

When Natikka made to lead me toward the Gouge, her people came to her asking for orders. In the absence of her leader, she took up Kentokk's mantle, giving her desperate people calm and direct instructions, putting on a brave face when I could tell, beneath that smeared paint, grief and hope were battling in her chest. I set off alone for the Gouge, hoping there was more to find down there than a corpse.

After shifting the debris blocking the entrance to the Gouge, I rappelled down and landed on a floating platform of wood and mortar. There I found Kentokk, wounded, but alive. I told him of the other survivors, and of Natikka. He was deeply relieved at this news, and said, in breathless bursts, that he should never have forbid her leaving Bleeding Mark. He seemed almost delirious, down here alone in the dark, holding his own guts in place through a wound in his stomach. It was a fatal wound; he knew it, I knew it. I forced this fact from my mind.

When I told him that Natikka had been on her way back to apologise, this seemed to bring life back into him, if only for a moment. A moment was all I needed. All I wanted was for he and Natikka to speak to each other again. There were many things he wanted to say to her; I told him to save his breath to tell her himself.

Kentokk couldn't climb in his condition, but I had an idea to get him up and out. Water was streaming into the ruin from several sources, maybe flooded sections sealed off from the rest of the cavern. If I could break through, the flood might raise the water level enough to float Kentokk up to the entrance of the Gouge, though hopefully not enough to flood Bleeding Mark all over again.

Racing against the fading of Kentokk's life, I grappled up to the higher levels of the ruin, looking for the source of the water.

The search for subfunctions was far from my mind, but there were no signs of any intelligent presence in the ruin. There was very little computing equipment at all, only the ghostly overlays of interfaces on small devices once part of an automated network. This had once been a mine, evidently from the cart rails and tightly excavated passages. I scraped all the data I could as I ran past these corrupted terminals, downloading it for later analysis, but I doubt any of it will be of use.

Finally winding my way up to the water source, I found a thick bank of Firegleam barely holding back the tide. It was risky; quite likely to drown me, but I had to try. I couldn't return to Natikka empty-handed.

Bracing for a dash, I ignighted the Firegleam, then sprinted back down the corridor. As soon as the passage blew open, a column of water rushed forward in white, rapid pressure. I clung to the wall as the generous jet swelled under Kentokk's platform, bringing it up to my level. I swung back onto the platform and rode with Kentokk to the surface. He was still alive, but only just; whispering Natikka's name. We were so close.

But I could feel his life fading through the palm of my hand. There had to be a final word spoken; a command, at the very least, from a steadfast mentor. A single word can make all the difference.

Kentokk had taught Natikka so much, imbuing in her a sense of duty for her tribe, so much so that now they were struggling in the devastation of the flood, directionless, she was there to guide their way, taking on the role of leader that she never asked for, never wanted, being destined for posts beyond the boundaries of this valley.

I called to Kentokk over the din: survive!

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 27 (2/2)

Desert Tenakth Territory

As the sun set, the survey drone swung back around its looping course, and I intercepted it, dragging the machine to the ground to harvest its connection data.

Giving this drone back to Gaia in the RCC will let her survey these lands autonomously, if only with the limited analytical capabilities contained in these little guys.

I still had a Plowhorn primary nerve to harvest for their override, so I glided back down to the blighted zone to take down the next pair, which had lumbered over from the nearest Cauldron in the meantime. It must be close by for them to have arrived so quickly.

Unfortunately, the Plowhorns hadn't come alone. Likely registering the easy defeat of their predecessors, Hephaestus had dispatched an honour guard for its best blighters, including three lots of Apex Burrowers and Clawstriders. One of the Rollerbacks had ventured closer too. I had to get in and out, fast.

I used my swiftest strategy so far on the Plowhorn; acid arrows, Boltblaster. By the time it was down, the machines had converged. I had to lead them away from the carcass then circle back in stealth to examine it. No primary nerve. They're a difficult part to keep intact under any kind of destructive power, but my kills are usually cleaner than this. Disappointing.

No override for me, I suppose. I wasn't about to risk taking on the other Plowhorn with all those Apex machines in my way.

I ran until I was out of their territory, then journeyed, exhausted, to the nearest Charger herd, just on the edge of the desert, while hunting the wildlife that crossed my path; rabbits, peccaries, and prairie dogs.

Mounted up once more, I circumvented the roaming Apex machines and rode back through the marshlands to reach Handa's salvage camp, Plowhorn parts and remedial flowers in tow.

A little more hunting in the marsh; Greenshine and geese, mostly. Cold, slimy place, thick with life.

I finally made it back to Handa fairly late in the night, but she was still awake and working, still murmuring to herself about her own unmatched artistry. She was impressed by the Plowhorn parts, and delighted by the flowers. She prepared them by plucking the petals and soaking them in a tin of boiling water over the fire, and we tried the hot beverage together. Fragrant, slightly sweet, but overall a mild flavour. I didn't feel any miraculous healing coming on, but it was certainly relaxing.

I kicked back at Handa's camp for the night, ready to head for Bleeding Mark in the morning.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 27 (1/2)

Scalding Spear

I rose very early after a fitful sleep. The celebrations of the clan had calmed, but not quelled entirely. The Wound was still under guard, the water still flowing, but filling slowly. It will be some days yet before the basin is back to healthy levels. Once full enough for the task, Jetakka will be able to collect the rations owed to Arrowhand and return them to his people. I wonder how Drakka will react to that. By all logic, it should be with joy, but somehow I doubt this will all end so simply.

I set out on my mount into the gathering dawn, heading north.

I soon came across a pair of Fire Bristlebacks, one Apex, one ordinary. I took the opportunity to try out one of my overrides from Cauldron Tau. The Bristlebacks then brawled, with a little help from my fire arrows.

My overridden machine emerging victorious, I climbed onto the beast and tried my hand at controlling its stampede. Incredible fun, and it can get up to impressive speeds in short bursts, but it's far from a comfortable ride, and still slower than Chargers at full pelt. An alternative getaway if I'm in a pinch, and a powerful ton of machinery to ram into enemies, but no replacement as my primary mode of transport.

I got back on my Charger, though the Brsitleback loyally followed us until it strayed too far from its programmed patrol area. I left it behind, riding up hill and out of the fog-bathed lower sands.

Quick stop at a shelter on the path, empty except for the supplies left for hunters passing through. I tried to replace all I took with materials of equal value to the Tenakth. That seems to be how things work around here; trust, nothing gained without tribute given.

Continuing north, I came to a herd grazing in a large marsh; a heap of Lancehorns, and two unfamiliar machines, hulking, long-tailed things. Their bodies were dominated by a huge generator equipped with a ventilation system just above their tails, which were spiked with armour, stocked with flame launchers, and lined with acid canisters.

Knowing I could make a quick getaway, I decided to try out my weaponry against the new machine, if only for research purposes.

I began by detonating one of its acid canisters, mostly to see how it would react. Unpredictably, was the answer. The machine curled itself up into a revving, flaming ball of death and came rolling right at me, churning up the earth and spitting fire in its path. I dodged out of its way, but my Charger wasn't so lucky.

I then took out my Boltblaster to pierce its corroded armour. As the Lancehorns came rushing over to aid the larger machine, I realised I was well out of my depth. The second rolling machine was on its way over too; I knew when I was beat. At least now I have an idea of how the machines operate and will be better prepared to take them on next time. And there will be a next time.

I made a tactical retreat of great desperation, running into a large Oseram encampment nearby. They'd set themselves up in a prime location for salvage given the surrounding machines...provided the big ones don't barrel right through its wooden fences in a firestorm.

I didn't expect to find Oseram camping in a fairly permanent structure all the way out here in desert Tenakth territory, so I was curious to speak to one of the residents.

The armourer at work was a little...eccentric. Dismissive and rude until she noticed that I was a hunter, when her face broke out into a smile. Her name was Handa, another of Keruf's crew, though she didn't see it that way. She called herself an artistic genius, not a mere salvager, and certainly didn't answer to Keruf. That said, she was still gunning for that prize of his for the best set of armour.

She had a couple of requests for me, seeing me as a capable pair of hands to gather materials for her masterpiece. First, she wanted parts from a pair of Plowhorns that patrolled a blighted field to the northeast, along with the white flowers they planted in their paths. The flowers weren't for the armour, of course, but for Hana to brew a remedy famous among the Utaru, said to soothe the mind. I could use some mind-soothing as well, come to think of it.

Handa's second request was for salvage from ruined war machines north of Bleeding Mark, and south in an area patrolled by Ravagers. I took the contracts for both and read them carefully. They followed a similar structure to Larend's, outlining the task to be undertaken, topped off with a bulky disclaimer saddling the signer with all responsibility for permanent injury and/or death. Standard stuff.

I hung around the camp for a bit, talking to the workers there. They've got a pretty mature operation going on here, excavation pits and everything. According to the workers, the Tenakth haven't given them any trouble, but did react with hostility when they made to approach Bleeding Mark, so the workers have kept well away since. One of the workers theorised that the rumour about the Tenakth killing and eating outlanders was an invention of the Carja, which would come as a shock to no one at all. The Tenakth were quite content to leave the Oseram to their delving provided they were left alone in turn. As such, the Oseram weren't aware of any situation in Bleeding Mark that might be keeping them from journeying to the capital.

They call the huge machines on the marsh Rollerbacks, by the way. I should have guessed.

The Plowhorn site was close, so I went on foot, hoping I'd pick up another Charger somewhere along the way. As I walked east, a huge fiery explosion erupted in the marshes. A group of Tenakth were taking on a herd of Fanghorns, archers penning them in with shots from a rocky overlook. The largest of the warriors wielded a huge flaming hammer, which seemed a dangerous choice so near fragile blaze canisters, but he seemed to know what he was doing. I watched him work the impressive weapon before closing in to help finish the kill.

I then joined the archers on the overlook, picking off the rest of the herd by detonating their blaze canisters, tearing off a few antlers that I needed to repair my Fanghorn override back at the RCC lab. I might have gone overboard with the blaze explosions; I've missed fire ammo, what can I say?

The Plowhorn site was hard to miss, the lush grasses and trees levelled to white sand and bare, turned earth, crawling with the blight's pustuled, spiny ferns and coated in its webbed, fleshy masses. The Plowhorns are uniquely equipped to sow its spread, marching unceasingly across the same tracks, dragging burst purulence through the muck.

Given Handa's request for those famous white flowers, I had to sneak up behind the working Plowhorns and collect the newly-produced blooms before the blight could kill them, which it was woefully quick at. That meant I had to hang around, low and slow, in the thick of the poison. I tried to keep my coughs quiet. I wonder if Gaia's been able to learn more about the blight from that survey drone near Plainsong, because from the look of it I've always figured it's some sick mix of vegetation and flesh, a perfect infection that attacks both. Nightmarish, truly. I much preferred Demeter when it was writing poems and building quaint metal flowers.

Once I'd collected six healthy bushels, I took up my weapons and engaged the Plowhorns one at a time. In both cases, I first targeted their horns which, again, I needed to drag back to the RCC lab for analysis. Far tamer without Hephaestus' malignant alterations, and with my stronger weapons, the Plowhorns went down without much struggle. Their adhesive projectiles were a hassle to avoid, their globular consistency making their trajectories difficult to anticipate. I used acid on the first Plowhorn, first a trap, then an arrow to set off the corrosive reaction. Boltblaster after that; I'm beginning to rely on it heavily, for good reason.

For the second Plowhorn, I experimented a little, targeting its Purgewater sac with an explosive shot, drenching the machine and leaving it vulnerable with its adhesive weapons useless. I used frost bombs to brittle it then, using my Boltblaster to pierce its compromised armour. I stripped both for the parts that Handa had requested, though neither had an intact primary nerve, the final part I needed to repair their corrupted override.

Trudging back across the blighted field, I spotted a flashing blue cone of light, heralding the mechanical trilling of another RCC drone. Another wayward unit surveying the blight; Gaia will put it to good use.

Its flight path was erratic, and I found no easy way to intercept it on first glance. I climbed further up eastward to the highest point of its scan, hoping to glide down to it from there.

Up there was a small brick ruin and a trio of Regalla's rebels. If they came here from a nearby outpost, maybe they're what's keeping the people of Bleeding Mark occupied.

I snuck up on the first rebel to cross my path in the tall grass, snapping his neck before taking the second blade to blade. The third, an archer, nearly got off a shot at me, but I quickly dispatched her as well. I spotted no tracks left by the three that might indicate where they'd come from.

The area clear for exploration, I detonated some Firegleam coating the ruins and looted the salvage within. The drone continued making its rounds above me, so after a short rest I climbed the ruin, leapt onto the cliff face behind it, and climbed to a wooden lookout to wait for the drone to return.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 26

Scalding Spear

I returned to the entrance of the Wound just before dawn, and Yarra soon joined me there. Together, we set off before most of the people of Scalding spear woke; it was only the guards that watched us leave. Still, word will soon spread that their Commander has followed an outlander into the wastes. Wonder what they'll make of that.

Following the path of the pipe underground with my Focus, my direction seemed aimless to Yarra, though she was desperate enough to trust me.

Soon, the pipe veered west and took us right through a herd of machines. Yarra wasn't one to sneak by, and took them by force. I wasn't complaining; I felt like showing off.

Starting with the Scrappers, I tore off a couple of radars, which I needed to repair their corrupted overrides. I struck them down with my spear and new blast sling, targeting the sparkers on the Longleg to catch as many Scrappers as I could in the ensuing shock explosion. Blast wire, explosive shots; Yarra tore up with her sword as well. A couple of Chargers joined the fray, and I was forced to dash away from the carnage to avoid injury. Damn Scrappers are a hassle at close range. Eventually, we'd downed them all, working the morning grog from our muscles and minds. Yarra seemed to relax a little after that, likely feeling assured of my abilities as a warrior, which to the Tenakth is a sure stamp of virtue.

Moving on, the pipes led us to a shallow puddle of water feeding a bed of pink blooms. It had seeped up through the sand from a breach in the pipe underground, which didn't bode well for the future of the Wound as a reliable water source. Still, it told us we were on the right track.

Her faith in me only growing, Yarra followed me to the edge of the desert, past a pair of Sunwings nesting in some ruins, and together we came to a short ridge slotted between two cliff faces. Water trickled down in abundance, and the pipes underground angled upward. Here was the source; Yarra was amazed.

Climbing the ridge and entering the valley beyond, we were faced with another dangerous herd: two Widemaws and three Spikesnouts, a machine I'd only ever spotted from a distance.

They're strange machines, tending to congregate as the lookouts of a herd, like Watchers and Burrowers. They collect a substance from the soil—some kind of mineral?—that they convert by some mysterious transmutation into a gas that amps up their fellow machines. They can turn the most cautious of machines into intent killers, frenzying them in the way of override modules. I wonder, did Hepheastus base this new ability off Corrupter override tech?

A question for Gaia. Regardless, I didn't want all three of them triple-maddening the Widemaws, so I came down on the nearest Spikesnout, then targeted one of its acid canisters to get things off to a good start. While the other machines were still registering the situation, I gunned for the Purgewater sac on the nearest Widemaw, then smashed it with frost bombs until it was brittle.

My beloved Boltblaster at the ready, I targeted both the Widemaw and the corroded Spikesnout, quickly dispatching both. The other two Spikesnouts were well and truly upon us then, though fortunately the second Widemaw was still oblivious up on the higher level of the clearing, popping out seed pods.

The Spikesnouts converged, spraying a mist that stung, and them numbed. It was harder to move in that cloud of poison, and it caused my Focus to malfunction as well, my vision fizzling with red static. I retreated to a distance to take long range shots, targeting their acid canisters, while Yarra concentrated fire from closeby. One of the few encounters that might have been made easier without a Focus. I guess Hephaestus is targeting me personally now. Seems about right; I've likely killed more machines in the last five years than most hunters do in their lives.

Once downed and looted, we sought out the second Widemaw to clear the area for our investigation. I showed off a little with this one, going for its sparker before gliding up and out of the blast radius. I went in close after that, Yarra at my side, striking at its weak points before setting off the second sparker and repeating the pattern once more. Finally, we were alone in the clearing, and able to examine the Tenakth corpse that had fallen in the area.

Yarra recognised him by the tattoos on his back as Drakka's man, a soldier of Arrowhand. Immediately, her hackles raised, and she began speaking of sabotage. I managed to calm her down in the moment; we can't jump to conclusions, though I could see Yarra's mind racing behind her stony expression. I led on.

Another storm started up, a red fissure in the sky over the desert. Are they always this frequent? Yarra and I followed the path of running water up a series of ridges, thick with moss growing from the murky stream.

Inside a ruin at the top of the passage, the underground pipes met in purple convergence. This was the source of the Wound, and it was gushing water. A Tenakth spear jammed into one of the levers had destroyed the mechanism, locking the valve that controlled water flow. It was currently directed away from Scalding Spear into a separate, broken pipe. Things weren't looking good for Drakka and his man; Yarra's accusations came out once again.

I'll admit, if I hadn't met Drakka beforehand I would've suspected sabotage as well. Yarra thought that he'd created the crisis on purpose, finding the source of the Wound and depriving Scalding Spear of the resource that kept its power over the other settlements, and kept Yarra in command. In such a crisis, a change in leadership would be welcomed, and once Drakka prevailed, the sabotage could be quietly undone to garner greater admiration from his new clan.

As I said, I might have believed this, if I hadn't met Drakka. He's not the cold, calculating type. He didn't strike me as deceptive; I doubt he could have identified this as the source of the Wound either. It's not exactly close to the city, nor easy to find without a Focus. To me, this seemed an act of ignorance, not sabotage.

I didn't come here to find blame. I set about repairing the mechanism, finding a second lever in an adjoining room to stem the flow of water, along with a valve to switch its direction. When the flow returned, it rerouted accordingly, back to its centuries' long home in Scalding Spear. There were some old interfaces and basic computer equipment inside, but it doesn't seem that this facility was automated or fitted with anything powerful enough to house a subfunction. Still, this was only a waystation in a larger network of irrigation mechanisms. Its central hub must be elsewhere...maybe Poseidon had made its home there.

Although Yarra thanked me sincerely when I returned, her anger with Drakka wasn't going anywhere. I tried to placate her, telling her not to do anything rash about his perceived betrayal, but I don't know if she'll listen. I want to head back to Scalding Spear anyway to make sure my makeshift solution actually worked. It would be embarrassing to take all Yarra's heartfelt credit for nothing. I've had enough of that already, with the eastern tribes calling me their saviour far too soon.

Yarra set off on foot, but I didn't feel like walking all the way back with her. Instead, I kept to the cliff side, soon finding the road and walking back toward Scalding Spear, avoiding the cumbersome sands for as long as I could.

On the way, I passed a ruin with the glow of Greenshine seeping through cracks in old stone. I latched onto the rusted surface with my Pullcaster and pried it open, getting at the valuables beneath.

As an afternoon storm swept on, the sun sunk behind the sprawled carcass of a Horus, a striking silhouette on the desert fringes. I considered exploring it thoroughly, but it was too out of the way to justify. I glided back to the desert floor.

At the base of the cliff, I found a herd of Chargers and overrode myself a new mount. I sped past the ruins where I'd spotted the Sunwings that morning alongside Yarra.

The storm was far worse down on the sand, where each grain became an arrowhead. I waited out the worst of it in a shelter on the sands.

I then made the rest of the journey to Scalding Spear, arriving in the early evening. Yarra hadn't made it back yet, so the guards wouldn't let me in to inspect the Wound. I didn't push the issue, as I could hear the slow trickle of returning water. It remained to be seen whether the water would return to its usual throughput.

Killing time; first, watching the Tenakth train. There were fighting pairs all over the place, sparring with spears, with blades and shields, with fists. Their efforts were relentless, especially considering the shortage of water.

I stopped by the city stitcher soon after and picked out a new set of armour. Angry red, dark-spiked; formidable in image and utility both. I wasn't questioned when purchasing the outfit and paint, since word had spread quick of the favour I'd gained with Yarra—why else would she have followed me out into the desert at that dead hour of morning? Although most Tenakth got their marks tattooed, those yet to formally achieve such notable feats were given temporary marks such as these, though apparently all could tell the authentic difference between ink and paint. I couldn't. The term 'temporary' was also up for debate. I tried shifting a patch by scrubbing at it and got nowhere.

I climbed the to the second-tallest point of the city, still far lower than Yarra's command post. There I saw a man laid out not for mere temporary facsimiles, but the real deal: deep red and black tattoos driven in by needle and hammer, like chiseling stone. Looked painful, but of course the man did not flinch.

One of the artisans stopped me on my approach to speak. Jetakka's story had spread; here was the vanquisher of Grudda, now confidant of Yarra. That made me someone worth talking to.

The man's name was Zokkah, an apprentice to Scalding Spear's best painter. He told me that after their shortage of water, their shortage of ink was their next most pressing concern. Forget the storms and the blight, I suppose. Their supplies all came from the clan's northernmost settlement, Bleeding Mark, but none had been delivered in the past week. The people of Bleeding Mark exchanged the ink they produced from local minerals for water rations. They'd be long past lacking in supply by now, and Scalding Spear was beginning to worry—not only for tattoo's un-inked, stories untold, but for their clansmen.

After Jetakka's tale of the Old World ruin at Bleeding Mark, I'd been meaning to check out the place anyway. If I can receive payment in doing so, and possibly help out a clan in a bad situation, all the better.

I told Zokkah I would stop by Bleeding Mark and return with word, along with those fancy ink rocks (ashblood), if I could.

I'd had enough of watching the fun in the melee pit from the sidelines. I went down there and spoke to the pit master, Lirokkeh. He confirmed the story Odurg had told me of the three pits and the ultimate challenge awaiting any who could best all three masters: the Enduring. They're a legendary warrior said to have trained all the best fighters in recent Tenakth history, though they haven't been seen in years in any of the capitals. The Enduring lives as legends do, insubstantially. Possibly mythologically. Either way, I'm intrigued. After proving myself in a few challenges against the pit's top fighters, I was permitted to face Lirokkeh head on.

I pulled out my best moves, now having gained mastery with my new spear. That idle time spent watching Tenakth sparring matches didn't go amiss either. In my proudest moment, I stunned Lirokkeh with a knock to the shoulder, and as he stumbled jumped up and planted my feet on his rising chest, launching backward to shoot a practise arrow right into the centre of his helmet, knocking him off balance once again.

Lirokkeh soon yielded, touching his head to the sand. One clan master down, two to go. The crowd, naturally, erupted.

Taking an evening meal surrounded by the celebration of spectators, the crowd soon quietened down as night settled in. Finally, Yarra returned from her long journey on foot. The storm must have held her back significantly. Together, we checked on the condition of the Wound, which was now noticeably filling, a clear stream winding through the desert sub-terrain.

The guards had kept to their orders despite the returned flow, which must have been fairly agonising. Everyone's thirsty here. Yarra had the guards remain so as not to cause a stampede. Not much had yet collected in the basin, though there was enough to go around when rationed sparsely. Yarra made no secret of who had caused the water to flow once more, and so gathered another crowd of ecstatic spectators, now watered and full of yet more energy.

I enjoyed it on its face, but the longer the celebrations went on, the more uncomfortable I felt, not just with all the noise and the attention, but with the farce. They were not safe. They will not live the year through, none of them, if I fail to defeat Far Zenith.

It was the same feeling that had taken over at the celebration in Meridian after the battle of the Alight, though on a smaller scale. That deep, twisting shame. Doubt, grief, and...resentment? I couldn't tell whether I was jealous of their earnest excitement or frustrated at their ignorance.

I did as I've been known to do, and slipped away, finding an empty home to rest in up on the city wall.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 25 (2/2)

Scalding Spear

I glided down through the gathering dust, leaving my mount behind on the mountain path. The road to the city gates were lined with bent streetlights and more rusted car shells. Jetakka must have warned the guards that I'd be coming, because they didn't stop me at the gate this time. I can't imagine they're used to outlanders visiting them all the way out here.

In the centre of the open courtyard was a fighting pit. Not a machine arena, but one for soldiers facing one another in single combat. This must be one of the three great Tenakth melee pits that Odurg told me about back in Chainscrape. Watching the fighters, they were certainly better than most, but I knew I could best them. I wonder which is the pit's champion.

I picked myself up something to eat, opting once again for a skewer of meat, fruit and vegetables. I asked around about Jetakka as I waited; apparently he'd arrived only an hour or so before and was now negotiating repayment for tribute with the Commander.

These negotiations soon spilled outside closed tarps, and things were getting heated. It wasn't Jetakka's doing—many other petitioners stood before the Commander demanding payment for tribute and the deliverance of rations. She stood before them all imperiously, refusing to hand over the water they were owed.

It became clear pretty quick what kind of ruler the Commander was. When one of the petitioners got up in her face, threatening to fight past the guards she had stationed around the Wound, she headbutted without saying a word, without so much as a flinch. He fell back, and all were silent after that, bowing to her word.

The Commander strode back up to her command post after that, and Jetakka ushered me along to follow her. As a Chaplain, he had respect enough to enter the Commander's post to continue negotiations. Ostensibly, he was her advisor, though she was in no way obligated to listen to him.

So, people weren't even allowed to see the water source now. I could guess what Jetakka was afraid to discuss back in Arrowhand—there was something wrong with the Wound. Maybe the Commander's motivation isn't greed after all.

I got a lot of stares as I followed Jetakka up and through the command tower, though the Commander did not turn as we approached her at her lookout. I spotted what seemed to be a tamed vulture roosting up there with her.

The Commander was named Yarra, and Jetakka had warned her about me, the outlander who helped Arrowhand make its most valuable tribute yet, and who possessed unique knowledge of the ways of the Old Ones. She was clearly skeptical of my abilities, but she did reveal something to me that must have cost her pride greatly: the Wound was dry. A small reserve remained in the basin, but no new water flowed to replenish it.

She had kept the truth from her clan to prevent a panic, and though I was at first incensed at the cover-up on Drakka's behalf, I believe she made the right decision. The Tenakth at large don't do calm pragmatism; there would have been an upsurge in violence, fighting over rations and over the seat of power. Many would probably have seen the drying of the Wound, which had sustained the tribe as long as memory, as a sign that Yarra was unfit to rule. The unsteady peace that she held over the clan, gripped in a cold and unyielding fist, would have disintegrated. She didn't have to spell it all out. Regalla's rebellion was enough sign of mounting tensions; Hekarro's peace was falling apart.

Yarra's position on this surprised me. If Regalla overpowered Hekarro, she said, than she deserved to rule. That's the way of the Tenakth, I suppose, but aren't the clans meant to be united? Instead, Yarra's staying well out of the conflict and ordering her people to do the same, all to avoid the ire of Regalla. Between a water shortage and deadlier machines spawning by the day, the desert clan certainly has enough to worry about, but still, I found it callous.

When I told Yarra that Drakka believed she was hoarding the water and forcing his people to die in pursuit of tribute, she was furious. A dissident, she called him—an upstart. So, this has been going on for a while. Yarra told me that this new angle from Drakka—that he was a compassionate leader worried for his thirsty people—was only the latest in a long line of failed attempts to further his power. He wanted her post, and that was the extent of his concerns. And, if he were in her position, he would have exactly the same problem: there was no water. No amount of posturing and power plays would change that.

I must say, I appreciated Yarra's straightforward attitude, and though it was clear that intense resentment tinted her view of Drakka, his history was against him on this one. I didn't know who to believe. I figure they're determined to hate one another whether they share a common goal or not, so I guess it doesn't matter.

I told Yarra that I would do what I could to help repair the Wound, and so she led me back down from her post and to the source of the tribe's current misfortune.

She asked after my origins, and when I said I was a Nora (it's easier to tell them that) she pried further, knowing that only exiles ever left Nora lands. There are exceptions, I told her, along with my purpose here to help others, expecting her to dismiss and continue to grill me, but instead she commended my goals. Her harsh tone puts me off balance; there's kindness underneath, somewhere very, very deep.

Yarra ordered her guards aside, and I entered the chamber of the Wound. It certainly was an Old World ruin; a basin now filled only shallowly over which the clan had set a bucket to retrieve their rations. Using my Focus, I spotted the skeleton of the thing. The basin reaches deep underground and connects to a long pipe that stretches out past the gates and into the desert. Even if I can get this working, how long will it last in such ancient condition? I suppose it's lasted this long.

I told Yarra that I'd found something, and she insisted on joining me on my journey to find the source of the problem. That was a good sign; she wasn't just going to trust some outlander to fix things, she wanted to do it herself. She seemed desperate to begin, too, but said she had more angry traders to deal with to prevent an all-out riot, and would rest briefly before we set out. Although I couldn't see any evidence of dark under-eyes, given she keeps them painted black permanently, I had no doubt that she was exhausted.

We agreed to meet before sun up, and I left to do a little trading and crafting of my own before turning in.

I purchased two weapons off a local smith, then set down to tinker with them in the nearby workshop. Once I was done, I couldn't wait to try them out, so stepped outside the city gates to test them to avoid brandishing explosives as an outlander within Tenakth walls.

Finally, some fire arrows! These are going to help out heaps, and the bow is of beautiful make as well. It'll be replacing my old shadow Carja bow, though it has served me well for a very long time—ever since I picked it up in Daytower. I also got myself a blast sling, another old favourite of my lost eastern arsenal. I might even get to show them off to Yarra tomorrow. I have no doubt we'll run into trouble. I usually do.

I set myself up in an empty house on the city perimeter, looking out at the rows of dusty panels outside, once sources of energy, now bizarre decorations for the foreboding image of a city.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 25 (1/2)

Arrowhand

I was up before dawn and out the front gates of Arrowhand, hoping to catch the rebels at Dry Yearn unawares.

On the way there, I spotted some Old World ruins that looked promising: a cracked stone wall with what looked like a rusted pipe running through it. Part of the clan's water source? Worth checking out for any machinery sophisticated enough to hold a water-obsessed subfunction.

I rode past the riders camped out with their pen of Chargers, then turned into the valley where I'd first spotted rebel activity on my way down the mountain. Just as Rukka warned, rebels nested there. Not too many of them, but they did have a Bristleback and a Ravager under their command.

I snuck around the left side, scaling the incline then scrambling down slowly, hidden behind the perimeter fence. The leader stood on a central watchtower, touting his firebomb launcher, just as Attah promised. From the ground, I took out as many rebels as I could at a distance as their leader ordered them back and forth, investigating the commotion made by dropping bodies with arrows through their skulls.

Once the remaining rebels had walked out the front gates to continue their search, I grappled up onto the watchtower and took the leader by surprise, striking him over and over before he could raise his cumbersome weapon. I then took that weapon up myself, keen to see what it could do.

When the search party came rushing back inside the gates to investigate the noise, I unleashed the remaining ammo on the crowd. Maybe a little too eagerly—I ran out by the time the Bristleback and Ravager, along with one rebel straggler, came charging in.

The Bristleback I took out by detonating its canisters, then descended to take the Ravager and the last rebel on the ground. I was feeling foolhardy after such a victory. Took out its power cell, went in for spear strikes, then targeted its weak points, tying it down and trying to tear of its cannon. I had a few close calls rolling and weaving past its claw swipes. Too eager, see. But I destroyed it in the end.

An awful dust storm swept through as I was looting the camp. Their stockpiles were expansive for such a small force, with constructions stretching all the way up to the top of the enclosing mountains, but there wasn't much I could use.

There at the peak, I could just spot the desert clan's capital, Scalding Spear, through the thick dust. Jetakka would probably arrive closer to evening, depending on how long it took his clansmen to lug all those machine parts down the road and through the sands. A tough job; I didn't envy them. Having some overridden machines sure would make it easier. I suppose that's how the rebels have managed to pitch up all these outposts so fast.

I glided back down to the rebel camp entrance, deciding to ride my mount around along the road. Best to keep it with me if I want to maintain a steady pace in the long run.

Riding along the road toward Scalding Spear, I stopped at the ruins I'd spotted on the way to the Dry Yearn camp. It definitely looked like a water pipe, though this part of the facility seemed dry. At the far end of the tunnel behind the broken wall was a sealed door, with no way I could see to open it. The nooks and crannies were choked with those strange pale vines cast from yet another metal flower. Tough things; impossible to cut. I even tried blasting them this time, but they're resistant to flames as well.

I had no choice but to move on, if reluctantly. Although I detected no signs of Poseidon, I did spot another ornament casting projections into the air, like the one I found in the ruins in No Man's Land. I wouldn't mind adding it to what then become a collection...Another collection.

Moving on, I rode through the mountain pass, watched over by Tenakth guards in their spiked sheltered towers. I attacked a lone Burrower walking the path, thinking it would make an easy piece of scrap. Turns out, someone was looking out for the little guy.

Yep. Nearly died. That's always the best way to come across a new machine. I barely had time to register its presence between its screech sounding behind me and the searing ball of plasma rocketing into the back of my Charger, casting voltaic burns and nauseating spasms of pain across my back and shoulders.

As I urged my damaged mount onward, the plasma charge built up, tangling through my body in heat and an unpleasant tickling—a Daemonic infection just for human beings. That's Hephaestus, innovative as always. The charge built to a climax then erupted into a force that hurled me from my mount, throwing me down to the cliff wall in a roll. This stuff is crazy, though in the back of my mind I couldn't help but wonder how I might harness it. The rest of my mind was concentrating on sheer, animal survival.

I ducked around the side of the cliff and climbed fast, grappling up to the topmost lookout tower. The Sunwing pursued; I'd led it right into firing range of the Tenakth sentinels, who I joined in attacking it from a distance.

With enough long-range blows, the Sunwing fell to the passage floor, and I glided down after it to take my revenge. I made good on the first strike, then detonated its spark coils to continue striking it while it was stunned.

After that daring the display, I'd thoroughly earned the respect of the guards. The one on the upmost lookout told me a bit about Scalding Spear and invited me to make use of their camp and supplies to treat my injuries.

Good supplies they were; fresh fruits, vegetables, and cooked fish. They must be a delicacy around these parts, being so far from their source. I rested for a bit and patched myself up, all the while fixated on the signal pulsing from up on the cliff behind me, slightly north. There was an old radio tower there still transmitting.

I took some time to analyse the data I'd pulled from the Sunwing too. Very impressive creatures; their wings take in the light of the sun and use it to power their internal mechanisms, generating energy. Awesome stuff, Gaia. Now, if only they weren't trying to kill me.

As I got up and started the climb to the tower, a huge storm opened in the skies above Scalding Spear, a whirlpool of angry clouds tinged red in their centre brewing dust and lightning. The wind whipped relentlessly as I climbed the steep incline. Nice flowers, though.

When in range, the tower transmitted another corrupted projection to my Focus, clearly depicting Scalding Spear in whatever form it once took. Something to do with water and a lot of computing power, I hoped.

Just my luck, the spot where the projection was taken was guarded by three watchful Sunwings. Turns out this place was once a solar-thermal power plant, and Miriam Technologies was part of its efforts to minimise impact on local wildlife like birds and insects by monitoring the airspace with 'Warden Drones'. Those panels surrounding the city, which Jetakka described as blinding in full sun, must have been for harnessing light to produce power, just like the Sunwings. Speaking of, I was able to slip past them and onto the ancient lookout with my Stalker shield, but once I had, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take them unawares, just as their friend had done to me.

Power cell explosions never get old. I managed to take two of the Sunwings before the third was clued in. My routine consisted of detonating cells, setting off explosive sharpshots and spikes, tearing into their wings with my spear to stop them swooping, and going straight for those deadly plasma power sources. It wasn't long before I'd downed all three of them, this time without copping a skeleton-full of crackling plasma. I was basically unscathed.

The storm was reaching its peak then, unleashing waves of sand that settled red across the afternoon sun. Moving on now, down toward Scalding Spear, where Jetakka would soon be waiting.

Now that I know what the place's purpose was in the Old World, I wonder if it could be Aether hiding inside instead. I guess it wasn't strictly air related, but probably comes under its domain. More probably there's, nothing there, and I'm only wasting time.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 24 (2/2)

Arrowhand

I reached Arrowhand just before sundown, leaving the hearts and other pristine parts with Jetakka outside the soldiers' lodge, before heading to the workbench to do some crafting of my own, working on my new Boltblaster. I have a feeling I'm going to come to rely on that thing.

I stood around with a group of soldiers taking a break from their work preparing the new hearts. I boasted, just a little. Felling a Thunderjaw isn't nothing. All of them spoke highly of Drakka, commending his strength in battle and compassion for his fellow soldiers. Popularity in his hometown is one thing, but if he wants to make a grab for power, he'll need backing from those in the capital as well. I wonder if he's serious about challenging the Commander. Part of me is afraid that he is.

Drakka soon returned with the wounded soldier slung over his back. He handed him off to another subordinate, who supported him into the lodge.

With the hearts being prepared for transport and sale, Jetakka would soon make the journey with a group of soldiers to Scalding Spear to barter with the Commander for water rations.

Drakka's anger was back. It will only grow as he leads parties out to retrieve the rest of the bodies. In his mind, it's all the Commander's doing. Despite Hekarro's rule of peace, the clans not only fight amongst each other, but internally as well. Times are hard and they'll get no easier, not until my mission's through.

With that, I asked Jetakka about the other Tenakth settlements, making a bizarre inquiry about their purpose to the Old Ones. I wasn't a delver, I assured him, not even a scholar—but I was looking for something. Something that could aid them more than all the water in the world. He then revealed that he had heard of me through tales from the east, and knew of my rumoured insight into the world of the ancients.

The Old Ones were great warriors, Jetakka said, and the ruins of their world reflect this. Scalding Spear is a weapon thrust out of the heart of the desert, surrounded by uniform shards of metal that blaze powerfully in the full light of the sun. Beneath it runs the Wound, an endlessly-replenishing water reserve built by the Old Ones that sustains the desert clan. Further north there is Bleeding Mark, which sits on the bones of a ruin that runs deep underground, cavernous and deadly. There is Salt Bite, to the northwest, built amongst the wrecks of ancient machines of flight; the High Turning, northeast, a heavily fortified gateway between the border mountains and Utaru lands.

If the system behind the Wound is automated, like the dam in the Cut, maybe Poseidon has fled to the machinery there. Just as I was thinking of checking out Scalding Spear of my own accord, Jetakka spoke to me in a hushed tone. He believes there's more to the capital's high water prices than greed. He refused to speak his suspicions aloud among his people. Could they be so inflammatory? I'd rather not get sucked into local politics, but if it'll help me gain access to the ruins running under Tenakth territory, I'll help Jetakka look into the matter. Whether due to a greedy Commander or a deeper issue, people will start dying if the problem isn't resolved. I need to help them.

I agreed to meet Jetakka in Scalding Spear as soon as I could, while he set off that very night with the others to deliver tribute.

I went to the local chef for another fantastic meal, then headed up to the highest and largest lodge of the settlement—Drakka's perch.

Looking out over Arrowhand, he thanked me again for my assistance. He reiterated his ambitions to challenge the Commander for rule. From his point of view, it seems like the only way forward, but I should find out what it is Jetakka knows before doing anything drastic—like putting my spear behind Drakka's claim. He seems to want just that; the outlander who defeated Grudda and drove Regalla's rebels out of the eastern lands would hold sway in such a conflict.

Suddenly I got the feeling there was an ulterior motive behind his befriending me. Regardless, he rewarded me well for my assistance, and seemed to comply when I urged him to avoid drastic action until we could be sure about the true situation. When did this become 'we' anyway?

I left Drakka to his brooding. His heart's in the right place, but he's being rash. I understand; thirst is loathsome company. He's desperate, and his people are dying under the thumb of an uncaring ruler, where Drakka cares for his people openly. I can certainly relate to seeing a problem and knowing I can fix it, inserting myself where unwanted. Fixing it anyway. I just don't think he knows what he's getting himself into.

I bedded down a little earlier than usual, planning for an early start. Before I think about going to Scalding Spear, I need to take out those rebels slinking around the Dry Yearn. That will help the people of Arrowhand almost as much as fresh water.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 24 (1/2)

Arrowhand

An influx of new arrivals to Arrowhand woke me at dawn. In the village centre below, a trail of stumbling, wounded soldiers supported one another to the lodge. Only one of them seemed uninjured, and as I walked down to join them, curious, I heard an argument start up.

The uninjured soldier argued with an older man—something about casualties, water, and machine hearts. I interrupted, and the older man introduced me to the newcomer as Grudda's killer. At first, I thought there would be trouble, as he reminded me that Grudda was once leader of Arrowhand. Fortunately, the soldier was merely impressed. Keenly impressed, actually. He introduced himself as Drakka—the very man that Fashav wrote of in the account of his visit years prior. It seems that the Marshall's favour had done wonders for Drakka; he was now the leader of Arrowhand himself.

The older man was named Jetakka, and surprisingly, he and Drakka let me weigh in on their spat. The wounded soldiers were the survivors of a hunting party that had set out the previous day to harvest machine hearts from a few nearby herds. Arrowhand made its living by selling valuable salvage to the clan capital, Scalding Spear, in exchange for water, of which there was precious little in the harsh desert. That explained the well-honed salvage industry booming in the town.

The herds had supplied a steady income for decades, penned in by Tenakth structures and supply caches for hunters that had stood the test of time. But in recent years, each felled herd would not only be replaced with new Cauldron spawn, but joined by increasingly dangerous machines to protect it. Now there was a Thunderjaw stalking the arid plains, and many of Arrowhand's best warriors now lay dead in its path.

Drakka wanted to go back. Jetakka wanted to go straight to Scalding Spear to seek aid. I figured aid wasn't given lightly among the Tenakth, and it certainly wouldn't reflect well on Drakka. He seemed to have something against the desert clan Commander, too. Said the price for water had grown exorbitantly high, that she was hoarding the water for her own in Scalding Spear.

Without hearts to sell, dehydration would soon set in amongst Arrowhand's people. Clearly taking a liking to me for offing his old rival, Drakka asked if I would accompany him to take down the herd and Thunderjaw both, so they could harvest the parts required and bring the bodies of the fallen back to Arrowhand. He wanted to see me in action, so he said. I wasn't opposed to seeing a Tenakth leader battle it out against a Thunderjaw either. He seemed young for such a high position, though I gather the Tenakth don't tend to last long.

In fact, that was why Jetakka was so revered. His title, Chaplain, was given to those few elders of the tribe. He provided counsel to the young, passing down oral history. He didn't seem that old to me, and this was the oldest left in the entire clan? It's just...sad. They don't have to live like this. That's the way of the desert, Drakka said. It's no different from saying 'that's the will of All-Mother'. Desolation is their god. A poor choice, in my mind.

I agreed to accompany Drakka, and though I asked for no returned favour, I figured that boosting my reputation amongst the Tenakth could only do me good. And I need to ask him about the other capitals, the other ruins nearby. Any that have centred strange spiritual occurrences over the last twenty years, most pressingly.

Following Drakka, I left Arrowhand on foot, jogging into the pinkish dust of the desert under the rising sun.

We soon passed a Tenakth camp stocked with hunting supplies, which I took gratefully and crafted some more ammunition. Drakka took the time on our journey to complain some more about his Commander and her greed. He's eager to bring about change for his clan and ensure water is shared equally amongst all. It's clear that the loss of so many soldiers has shaken him; his rage is evident, covered by quips and callow smiles.

Drakka led me up a steep mountain passage to the clearing where the herd roamed. He seemed overly confident, seeing as so many of his soldiers had died the day before on this battlefield, though I suppose the machines might not have replaced their ranks yet. And he was testing me for something, that was obvious. There's something more to his gripes with this Commander of his.

Together, we climbed up into the vegetated clearing stocked with traps, ammo caches, and the decorations of the desert Tenakth. Bodies, too. Lots of them, fresh from yesterday's fight.

Two Ravagers and two Fanghorns. Where can I find some damn fire arrows in these lands? I must have passed the right merchant by. Well, things would be a little harder, but fortunately Drakka followed my lead and we remained concealed while I prepared my weapons.

I began with the nearest Ravager, guiding it away from the rest of the herd, first targeting its cannon, then its spark coil to incapacitate it, keeping it partially tied down to stop it lunging across great distances. Spear strikes, braced shots, explosive traps, and more arrows sunk into its cannon. I didn't manage to tear it free, instead destroying it in the process. Man, tear blast arrows would come in handy too. I miss those bountiful merchants of Meridian.

Drakka held his own too, though he mostly fought with his blade, a daring strategy when facing a Ravager.

Once the first Ravager was down, I went after the first Fanghorn, freezing it with just two shots from my bow, then I unloaded with my Boltblaster. It works wonders. Beyond glad I stopped by Rukka's camp to pick it up. The machine went down quickly.

The final two machines gave me a little more grief. Fortunately there were ledges and pillars to launch and glide from, and plenty of ziplines so I could keep on the move, dodging the Ravager's cannon fire. Again, I went for the shock coil, the cannon, striking hard with my spear while it was stunned. Acid traps and arrows corroded it, set it wild; I used my Spikethrower to wreak maximum damage as it thrashed around. Dodging that charging, flaming Fanghorn all the while, don't forget. I used the same strategy on it as the first; freeze and bolt blast.

Great salvage from the kills, including the hearts that Drakka needed. It's just a shame that so many people had to die to get them. Looking around at all those corpses, I felt my own anger rising at the clan's Commander. Were these parts really so valuable that she could overlook the great cost of life in retrieving them? Was water really so scarce, or was she favouring those under her own command in the capital? Whatever the case, Drakka might be right. Things need to change around here. Still, water shortages will be the least of the clan's problems soon enough.

Drakka said a few terse words of prayer over the bodies, collecting 'tags' from their necks—small metal plates engraved with symbols and threaded with wire. They were the same as those I'd found around the necks of Regalla's rebels, always thickest and most decorated around the necks of their camp leaders. Marks of identification, I suppose, like the seed pouches of the Utaru, only these carry proof of deeds, not a vessel for the soul. Maybe they're the same thing, for the Tenakth.

Drakka said the bodies would be 'bagged and tagged'. Sounded a little impersonal, but as it goes, life doesn't mean much around here. Certainly not to the clan's Commander. These weren't the only corpses, though. There were more still on the plains where the Thunderjaw roamed. That's where Drakka was headed to next, and he asked me to accompany him once more. A Thunderjaw heart was sure to fetch enough water to last them a long stretch. I couldn't let him go alone after all that. Although he was clearly a skilled warrior, he was emotional, reckless. I couldn't be certain that he wouldn't get himself killed.

I showed off Grudda's glider on the way back down. Thankfully, Drakka didn't ask me to let him have a go. I figure this sort of thing is semi-sacred—the property of a felled foe.

We took off across the dry plains. This must have been a roadway in ancient times; the rusted frames of signs and twisted street lights stood like malformed trees in the otherwise flat scrublands. I wasn't seeing a Thunderjaw though. They tend to stick out.

Drakka spoke more about the dilemma of his clan. It became clear that his wish for change wasn't nebulous, it was a clear-cut ambition. He wanted to replace the desert clan Commander and take the lead. He's confident and passionate, clearly capable, but I'm not sure if his ego is level enough for command. That said, if the current Commander is hoarding water and forcing her people to fight bigger and bigger machines to pay their keep, then she deserves to be ousted, even by a headstrong upstart like Drakka.

Definitely a roadway; we soon passed frames of vehicles large and small, some still stocked with useful parts amongst their degraded machinery.

Drakka spotted a wounded soldier who had dragged himself up onto the rocks out of harm's way. Before we could speak to him, a group of Burrowers shot up out of the ground. Drakka and I rushed to fight them off, him favouring his blade while I picked them off with sharp shots to their exposed eyes. Much cleaner but, granted, a little less fun. I understand Drakka's preference.

As we were dispatching the Burrowers, the Thunderjaw decided to make an appearance, shaking the plains on its approach. I watched in amazement as Drakka continued to favour melee and ran right at the beast, though thankfully he switched it up with some ranged attacks.

I used the surrounding Tenakth markers to launch up and away from the persistent explosive blasts of the Thunderjaw's discs.

The chillwater canisters on the machine's underbelly were already exposed from yesterday's battle, so I targeted them with my frost bow, preparing my Boltblaster for a barrage of damage. Two rounds of that, dodging cannon blasts, exploding discs, headlong charges and tail whips in between, and the beast was down. I've missed these things after all these unfamiliar, western machines. You know where you are with a Thunderjaw. That is, in danger.

Although the kill wasn't entirely my own, I couldn't help but celebrate. It was the Tenakth yesterday that did the bulk of the work, skewering the Thunderjaw with throwing spears, spikes, and arrows. I just finished it off.

After I'd harvested the Thunderjaw heart, Drakka and I returned to speak with the only remaining survivor. He would need help to return to Arrowhand, but he'd live. A small boon after such great loss, but it was something. I could see how it heartened Drakka.

I agreed to take the hearts back to Jetakka while Drakka helped the wounded soldier return. We parted ways.

I did some hunting on my way back, and spotted some Greenshine glaring on the peak of a mound. There's new wildlife here in the desert—species I've never seen before—like peccaries, vultures, and horned lizards. I even spotted a scorpion.

Drawing a Fanghorn away from a nearby herd, I tore off its antlers, which I needed to repair the Fanghorn override from Cauldron Mu. I grabbed the antlers and ran, not wanting to tousle with the two Ravagers, Behemoth, and herd of Fanghorns hanging around. I didn't quite get away unscathed.

The Behemoth set its sights on me and chased me almost all the way back to Arrowhand. I would have fought back in turn, but after all the day's hard fighting, I was exhausted. So I attempted to dodge the wave of churned up stones cast by the Behemoth, suffering only minor scrapes.

Finally, I made it back in sight of the guards at Arrowhand, which spooked off the lone machine. I headed back into the settlement to hand over the parts and rest. I hope Drakka keeps away from that damned Behemoth on his way back.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 23 (2/2)

Arrowhand

As the sun set, I observed life in Arrowhand. Warriors were hard at work, sparring, climbing, building muscle in feats of strength. They were relentless, but despite the rough blows exchanged, the fighters grinned and called. Far from the stoic endurance of the Banuk, these people hold similar beliefs on the merit of brute strength, but find joy in it. There's nothing quiet about them.

Good food too. Fruits, grubs, tubers, and meat. Lots of it. I've missed meat cooked by a professional, seeing as the Utaru don't touch the stuff.

I sat beside the kitchens and ate with one of the locals, roasting a skewer of meats, fruits, and vegetables over a smouldering pit.

I went down to a spot overhanging the desert where a pulley system was rigged to haul machine carcasses up from the killing fields. They kept the stripped parts in a storehouse nearby—good parts, too. I've never seen such clean salvage, except from Banuk Shamans.

The Tenakth decorated the ancient canons ringing the perimeter walls with their own adornments, honoring their fallen power. I wonder where these beliefs stemmed from. The sheer number of battlefields around these parts, most likely, from the days of Enduring Victory.

Inside one of the open lodges, I spoke to a group of Tenakth, and found a set of scrolls written in Carja glyphs. They were signed by Fashav—likely the only man who ever set foot in this place who could write in this language.

He recounted a trip to Arrowhand, once his first prison when taken over the Tenakth border, now his stomping grounds as a newly-minted Marshall. He came with other Marshalls in tow to help bring Arrowhand under Hekarro's banner of peace, but the going was tough. He recounted an argument between a respected warrior of the settlement, Drakka, and its leader, Grudda, who wanted to send their warriors out to hunt dangerous machines for more valuable salvage.

So, Grudda used to run this place. Hopefully there are no hard feelings. Given what I've observed of the Tenakth so far, the more they respected Grudda, the more impressed they'll be with me for killing him.

In the end, the Marshalls sided with Drakka in the disagreement, causing Grudda no small amount of shame. I'm sure that incident only pushed him toward turning on the Marshalls at Regalla's side.

I finally settled down to sleep in one of the quieter corners of the settlement. There was plenty of room in the bedhouse, but man, it was loud. Lots of wounded, too. Trouble with the rebels? Whatever the cause, it seems the lives of the people here are brutal and often short. And for some reason, they're proud of it.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 23 (1/2)

Regional Control Centre

I woke just before dawn and prepared for my journey. I wore my freshly-dyed Utaru armour, thinking it might afford me a little inconspicuousness among the Tenakth. Although I have Fashav's token to flash in the eyes of Hekarro's loyal soldiers, it would be better to keep a low profile altogether. I figure they'll suffer an Utaru over someone who appears Carja or Oseram. As for a Nora, they've likely never seen one.

During my preparations, I heard Varl and Zo arrive. They came through the western door, so I met them there. They'd been down in the lower parts of the facility, repairing pieces of machinery exposed to the elements—helping Gaia patch herself up. I told them what Gaia had relayed about the subfunctions, and they seemed to follow just fine. So far they just think we're here to bring the world back from collapse. They don't know about Far Zenith. That's just as well, I did tell Gaia to take it slow. The story of Zero Dawn and the Faro plague is enough to take in without throwing star-born, invulnerable conquerors into the mix, let alone their traitorous clone.

I stepped out before Varl and Zo could ask to join me. They followed anyway. I concentrated on the incredible view, rather than the impending unpleasantness of letting them down.

Tenakth watchtowers struck the sky in curved spikes, dotting the distance alongside ancient ruins, the carcass of a Horus, and rolling mountain ranges. I'd finally stepped into the true Forbidden West, a frontier that even the Carja's bloody conquest had never penetrated.

I needn't have worried about Varl and Zo. As I tried to broach the fact that I would be doing this alone, full stop, Varl preempted me. He wanted to stay, and Zo did too. There was so much for them still to learn—including reading English, which having learnt so young I often take for granted. Varl knew he'd be of better use to the cause if he could understand what it actually was beyond vague ideas of goddesses build from ancient instructions. He also wanted to journey back east to fetch Erend from Barren Light.

I wanted to refuse, but I couldn't well stop him, and I knew that Erend would want to be here to fight by my side. But he's captain of the Vanguard...I can't get the whole Sundom involved in this. I agreed, as long as it was only Erend. According to Varl, he was likely to still be in the Daunt with the rest of the Vanguard. The Sundom was rightly concerned by Regalla's threats of an all out invasion, and were fortifying their western boarder as we spoke.

I gave Varl my pouch of spare Focuses, and he repeated what I'd told him. Each of us get two; one to wear, and one for backup. I learnt that from Sylens, after Helis crushed my Focus in his fist.

Zo, too, wanted to learn, and to take her knowledge back home to her people someday. I wished them all the best, and warned them that Talanah might be passing through soon. Varl was excited to hear that she was out this way, and I could see he was gearing up to asking if he could give her a Focus too, introduce her to Gaia...He decided not to push his luck. Besides, he could try, but I don't think Talanah would be all too receptive. She's far too concerned about her 'friend' to bother with the rest of us.

Varl and Zo retreated within the Control Centre walls, thankfully without a fuss. The conversation went better than I could have hoped, and now here I was, just as I needed to be: alone.

They wouldn't know what to look for anyway. They don't understand the mission. Crucially, they don't yet realise just how aimless I am in my search. Best they go on thinking that I have it all figured out.

I glided off the ridge, touching down by a Tenakth camp. I eyed it warily from a distance as I passed, but the woman sitting by the fire called me over in a hostile tone. I figured things would go worse for me if I didn't stop.

She wore desert clan paint, like most of Regalla's rebels, though she didn't wear their red and green colours. Surprisingly, she welcomed me, recognising me from tales brought back from the deadly embassy at Barren Light. She'd seen me gliding, using a machine taken as tribute from the Champion Grudda, she said. The surviving Marshalls and clan emissaries had passed on that detail loud and clear, along with my red hair. Damned identifiable feature...Though maybe it would work in my favour. I was known here, even respected by some. Maybe my defeat of Grudda would speak louder than any Marshall's token ever could.

I sat down with the woman, who was named Rukka. She assumed I was here to seek revenge against Regalla and her rebels, to finish the fight she began. Not strictly wrong, though the focus of my wrath is not Regalla. I let Rukka assume, and she told me about the rebel activity in the area—closest was a camp posted in the Dry Yearn below, between the desert Tenakth settlements of Arrowhand and Scalding Spear. So, it wasn't just the Marshalls and so-called Carja collaborators who had to fear Regalla's forces—even ordinary Tenakth citizens faced her violence. Sylens' violence, by an indirect hand.

Before leaving the camp, I bought a new weapon off the merchant there, a Boltblaster, another signature Tenakth creation. Heavy, but intricate and efficiently-made, capable of rapid-firing piercing bolts perfect for mangling armour and ripping into machine innards. I'll definitely be using this.

The view from the camp was vast. Past the blighted lands stretched a barren desert and steep, dry rocky ranges. Arrowhand was the closest settlement, built on the bones of an ancient military compound by the looks of the artillery cannons and surrounding Faro bot bodies. I could just spot signs of activity in an enclosed valley to the north west—those would be the rebels of Dry Yearn. Through the mountain pass ahead I would find the desert Tenakth clan capital, Scalding Spear. I thanked Rukka for the information and set off.

As I was walking down the mountain, wary that riding a machine might mark me out as a rebel from a distance, a group of fellow machine riders came streaking past, churning up a cloud of dust as they barrelled down the road. They seemed to be...racing. They cheered and hollered, striking one another's mounts with spears as they veered close. I didn't get a good look at them, but they didn't seem to be sporting rebel colours and armour.

I made a quick stop along the road at another Tenakth camp, tracing the path of the riders on my Focus. If they were rebels after all, they were likely heading to their base in the Dry Yearn camp, and if they weren't...then what were they doing? How had they discovered how to override machines?

I walked the desert path, trying to keep a low profile as I passed Arrowhand. The walkway to the entrance was festooned with Tenakth guards, armoured heavily, watching.

Continuing to follow the riders' tracks, I found them gathered around a pen of chargers, decorated with arches and totems painted in Regalla's red and green. So they were rebels after all? They were certainly close to the Dry Yearn camp, but they weren't dressed like rebels, were scarcely armoured, and armed only with spears and simple war bows. They didn't seem dangerous and, what was more, all looked very young.

I approached cautiously, and though the Tenakth didn't attack me on sight, they were hardly welcoming.

There were seven of them in total, all approaching with hostility, though none reached for their weapons. A desert Tenakth man got in my face, repeating the eastern rumour that the Tenakth drink blood, threatening to make it real. I wasn't going to let that slide, but just as things were beginning to escalate, another desert clan member stepped between us.

Tall, a bit pretty. Terrible hair. Her name was Attah. When I pressed for answers about their mounts and rebel equipment, she said I'd have to race for what I wanted. Amongst their little group, all disputes were settled on the track. Clearly, she didn't know that one of my many titles back east is 'machine rider'. It may not be so unique of a skill these days, but I was still the first. I'm still the best.

At first, they said there was no mount for me to ride, and tried to shoo me away. Clearly Attah hadn't expected me to actually accept the challenge. But then the largest and strongest of the group stepped forward. With a silent look—pale eyes peering through the darkened sockets of an ostentatious helmet—he seemed to command the others, and suddenly there was a place for me after all.

He stared at me, real long and hard. Not a word. Cheers, mysterious stranger. I'm about to run your friends into the ground.

I wasn't sure the effort would be worth the information Attah was withholding, but if they were affiliated with Regalla, maybe they had information about where she's getting her gadgets, or what she's planning.

I took a test run around the track, using one of their supplied mounts. It wasn't in the best of condition, so I made some quick and dirty repairs. The track was easy to follow with markers and arches erected along the road, all painted in rebel colours. I wonder what the local clans think of all this. Probably why there are so many angry guards standing out front of Arrowhand.

Ammo slings hung from the arches and pillars because, in true Tenakth fashion, there were no rules on the track. Arrows and spears were meant to be used only to target competing mounts, but if a stray blade struck a skull, what was there to do? These people certainly don't do things by halves.

Returning from my test run, the other racers were ready to set off for the real thing. They took up their mounts, their bows and spears, and stood behind the starting line for the countdown. The creepy, silent guy was absent, I noticed. He stood in the empty machine pen, watching.

As the challenger, I had the disadvantage, starting at the back of the pack, but I wasn't there for long. These people can't have been riding for more than a few months, whereas I'm coming on nearly a year on machine back. I quickly outpaced the competition, wrenching shock arrows from my Charger's flank and battling off spear strikes from those who got close enough to swipe at me. I landed a few blows of my own, holding off the competition. I was grinning like an idiot nearly the whole way around.

The track took us through the blighted lands, through the tight cavernous valleys of the nearby rangers, and up the mountain to the snowy camp where Rukka still sat crafting her wares.

The race was closer than I'd expected, but not that close. I came in with a clear lead, with Haxx in second place.

Having proven myself to these people, speaking in what was apparently their only language of respect, I returned to Attah for answers promised.

They were indeed part of Regalla's rebellion—or they had been, until they'd witnessed the slaughter at Barren Light. They'd joined Regalla with the promise of fighting in a true war, one that would repay the Carja for horrors suffered during the Red Raids. Attah admitted that they were naive, eager to live up to Tenakth ideals of strength and victory. They thought they would be fighting Carja soldiers, not their own Marshalls, their own people. Instead, most of Regalla's casualties have been Tenakth citizens, and Utaru, once their close allies. That's the cost of an offensive campaign, I suppose. They need territory, mobility, and supplies. They can't get them through honest trade.

Plus, Attah said, Regalla herself is working with outlanders, which contradicts her ideals. Attah couldn't tell me any more, but I figured these outlanders must be the 'Sons of Prometheus' that I found mention of in the camp near Barren Light.

I figured it was a bad time to try explaining to Attah that Carja and other outlanders are people too. I've known her anger. You don't join a cause like Regalla's without having lost everything to the Carja's old mode of brutality. Sylens is using that anger, just as he used the Shadow Carja's desperate faith.

Attah also told me about the rebel outpost at Dry Yearn, explaining its layout and equipment. That was where she had been stationed before deserting Regalla's cause. Nothing I can't handle, but their leader does have a fire bomb launcher. Sounds fun.

Leaving the riders' camp, I explored the military ruins nearby, clearing out some valuable salvage. It was evening by then, and with Attah and Josekk's encouragement (the Tenakth man who seemed keen on blood drinking), I went to find keep at Arrowhand. Apparently, the guards wouldn't turn me away if they knew I was the one who defeated Grudda. Rukka's reaction to me suggested the same. The pair couldn't accompany me, though, since all their clan knew them as traitors, and would in fact hate them more for desertion than betrayal. Loyalty is of the highest value here, no matter to which side.

I was eager to see what the Tenakth had to trade, and what they could tell me about the surrounding lands. Any other Old World ruins, for instance, where I might acquire a few subfunctions.

Predictably, I was stopped at the gates, though the guards on the battlements let me pass. Typical spiel: turn back outlander, this is the place of our tribe and no other. I showed them Fashav's ceremonial blade, carrying the blessing of a Marshall and, by extension, Hekarro himself. With that, the guards took in my appearance and recognised me as Grudda's killer, the one who fought beside their Marshalls at the embassy.

They let me inside with a warning to mind their ways, and one seemed genuinely awed to meet me. All thanks to Marshall Fashav, a meal and shelter awaits.

The Tenakth had built their town around the metal frame of the old compound, decorated with wooden fences and ornamentations painted in the red, yellow and black of the desert clan, along with touches of white and blue to signify their allegiance to Chief Hekarro and his Marshalls. Their spiked shelters arced into the sky, insulated with thick hatch and straw marred strong with mud paste. Ramps and balconies of stone, wood and mortar stretched up to the higher levels, all crowded with desert Tenakth, many with their faces covered by cloth to keep out the sweeping sands.

A large section of the village was set aside for stripping machine carcasses and harvesting their parts to be stockpiled and worked into their many weapons. War was the way of the Tenakth; here was that industry firsthand.

A man sat at a machine strike board on a clearly ceremonial perch. Salma was right, this game is a big deal out west. As Arrowhand's greatest player, this man had gained a position of respect. I suppose it's a game of strategy, but a long way from true war-making.

At the highest lookout, hanging over the front gate, I greeted one of the guards and looked out toward the mountain peak I'd started from that morning. Not a whole lot of distance covered, but I'll know more by tomorrow. The Tenakth seem to hold great respect for the Old Ones—for their military exploits, at least. If there are other large ruins in these lands, they're sure to know of them.

I settled in for an evening of trade, of materials and rumours, and exploration.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 22 (2/2)

Plainsong

I was feeling aimless, hanging around Plainsong, trading supplies back and forth to lighten my load. Just as I was tossing up whether it was worth forging west as soon as possible to target Regalla's forces at their source, Gaia's voice came through my Focus.

She's got something. Finally. I can't complain—she's had a lot to do this past week, sifting through centuries of data, instantiating herself in a degraded, under-equipped environment...and searching for mutated, missing pieces of herself that likely don't want to be found. Well, she's found not one, but three. Unfortunately, she's yet to pinpoint their locations precisely, but all lie west of the mountains. Just where I was planning to go.

I left Plainsong right away.

I pushed my mount full pelt across the blighted fields and up the craggy slopes to the RCC. From its imposing peak, it was clear that the landscape was engineered to centre the site. From there, at the highest point overlooking both east and west, we were meant to observe these lands as they thrived under Gaia's stewardship. It was her vision when shaping the facility, I'm sure. We'll make it real yet.

A quick rest partway up the cliffside, then I pressed on.

The temperature dropped sharply in the heights. Waterfalls grew sluggish, stuck is a slushy medium between water and ice. Fortunately, Varl and Zo had set up a bonfire beside the facility door, embedded in the side of the mountain. There are no roads here, I doubt anyone will spot it. An unforgiving climb, with only a locked door at the end as reward. We should be safe here.

I went straight to Gaia, and saw no sign of Varl and Zo on my way through. She stood in the centre of the holographic theatre, just as I'd left her, and it was hard not to think of her as a person, but as a mind spread through every corner of this facility, through the repair bay below, the signal towers...It's incredible.

Using those signal towers, the networking and cryptographic tools of Minerva, Gaia had located the presence of three subfunctions in the west—Aether, Poseidon, and Demeter. Air, Water, Earth. A nice triad, and the most useful of the missing functions, apart from Hephaestus itself.

With them, Gaia would have the tools and knowledge at her disposal to purify and moderate the air, water, and vegetation. That could mean an end to the erratic weather—the storms, quakes, floods, and the blight itself. The other missing subfunctions, in contrast, couldn't do us all that much good now that the biosphere was already established. Artemis and Eleuthia had already served their purpose, populating the lands with wildlife and humans. The knowledge and utility contained within those subfunctions were still invaluable, and reintegrating with them would boost Gaia's processing density too, but we can do without them for now. Who knows, maybe Far Zenith has them already.

It wasn't all good news. Gaia didn't yet have a clear fix on any of the subfunctions' locations. The activity she had detected was sporadic and diffuse, encrypted to a high degree. She knew that they lay in the west within a distance of about 200 miles. Too large an area to search aimlessly, but I at least know I'll have to look for ancient facilities equipped with powerful computing abilities—according to Gaia, likely with an original purpose adjacent to the subfunction's domain.

So, three Old World ruins to locate: one connected to the air, one to water, and one to plant life. Without Apollo, Gaia has no knowledge of the available candidates. That subfunction held much of her own auxiliary data reserves, too.

As I make my journey, Gaia will be able to analyse all data I come across while continuing her outward search through Minerva's towers. Hephaestus really was the cornerstone of her capabilities—without machines, she can't roam, interact, search in any meaningful way beyond scraping signal activity lancing across degraded web strands. I'll admit, I'd expected Gaia to reveal some miracle of power. It hadn't occurred to me, when I woke her here, that she would be so impaired. It doesn't matter; I'll restore her to what she once was, then she'll do the same to the world.

I uploaded the survey drone module I'd snagged from the old military base near Plainsong. And there it was rendered in perfect light and shade. It felt like real sunlight beating down; tricked my body and mind into simulating warmth. Another patch of land for Gaia to watch over. A far cry from the world, but she was appreciative of it all the same.

Gaia informed me that Varl and Zo had left the base together some hours ago, and though she offered, I told her not to call them back. I'll spend the night, then be on my way. I don't want to bring them with me. If I can sneak through before they return, maybe they won't follow.

And no, it's not the same as what I did to Varl back in Meridian. Gaia's here to teach him. I've brought him into the fold; job done. If my life needs saving, Gaia's here keeping track of me.

Varl and Zo haven't been idle here this past week. Apart from learning loads from Gaia about the Old World and how she came to be, they've been fixing up the RCC. With Gaia's instruction, gathering parts from the wilds, they've repaired the plumbing! Working showers and lavatories! Oh great conveniences of the Old Ones.

No heated water, obviously, as I know was the norm, but still, the sanitation mechanisms are up and running, filtering the water and flushing out waste. Not sure where to. Hopefully not the river.

I stopped by the lab, uploading the data I'd scraped from Cauldron Mu's core. The terminal told me the parts I'd need to slot into its fabricator for analysis to complete the corrupted overrides. I noted them down on my Focus; onto the backlog they go.

Still no sign of Varl and Zo. I settled down in one of the beds in the barracks. The sheets were eaten through by mould and time, but still decently soft. Tomorrow, I forge into Tenakth territory.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 22 (1/2)

Stone's Echo

I left the village before dawn, restless. First, to Larend's salvage camp, after that, who knows. I can't roam this stretch of land forever. The number of problems for me to solve for the people here will only grow, exponentially, until everything dies.

Turning eastward, I returned to the ancient killing field I'd passed weeks prior, riding under the arms of Titans, choked with greenery. Burrowers patrolled, watching over sparse herds of Chargers.

As the sun rose, I arrived at Larend's camp, smoke rising in a single scant plume behind a ramshackle wooden fence.

As the orange light of morning fell across the camp, I handed the Shellwalker plating over to Larend and collected payment due. He was still in need of the parts after all. Not many hunters for hire were willing to cross these regions for shards alone, given the presence of Regalla's rebels and the Apex machines appearing across the lands. So, it wasn't just Cauldron Tau—Hephaestus has been at work in Cauldrons all across the lands, maybe the world. Brilliant. At least I've dealt with the rebels in the area now.

On a circuitous route back west, I checked out some old military ruins overlooking the battle field.

Unsurprisingly, the Oseram traders had picked through the place already, and there wasn't much in the way of salvage left behind. There were datapoints, though—scraps of military orders, personal memos, dying words. I tried to picture the valley below devoid of life, a burning pit of bots, rolling up toward the compound in a wave of black metal and bio-mist. Then I wished I hadn't.

Further on, back on the valley floor, I returned to the ruins I'd passed on my first ride west, where I'd saved a few delvers from a band of rebels. The delvers had evidently moved on, but now equipped with my ignighter, I'd be able to blast my way through the Firegleam deposits dotting the ruin's sealed walls.

I did just that, though the crystals burned quick and hot, and I couldn't get away in time to avoid the barrage of stones that followed detonation. Barely missed my dumb skull. I have to be more careful.

Inside, my Focus picked up an artefact behind a locked door across a broken walkway. It was a projector of some kind; powerful, packed with visual data, but not much else. Curious, I engineered a way across.

With a little more blasting, I found a datapoint with the code for the locked door, and an empty power cell to bring the mechanism back to life. Once charged, I couldn't walk the cell across the flooded portion of the room—the ensuing electric blast rattled my bones. The years had made the machine volatile, and I needed to drag it across on top of a handy crate to keep it out of the damp.

Entering the code and opening the door, I was able to examine the ornament more closely. Projections of bright yellow leaves emanated from the sphere, powered by an internal source across the intervening centuries. Impressive, but I have no idea what greater machine it was made to slot into. Still, all that whirs is of value to the Oseram. I might find a good price for it or, better yet, find out its true function and return it to service.

I took the sphere with me when I left, tying it to my mount.

I passed back through the battle field, now heading west. I scanned the rebel camps I'd cleared when I first crossed the border, checking for any sign of resumed activity. Nothing. With my efforts, I've managed to drive the rebels out of No Man's Land and most of Utaru lands too. Not bad, but I have a feeling their true might is hidden across the mountains in Tenakth territory.

Crossing back into Utaru lands, I headed north toward Plainsong, wanting to check that Yef and the other Eclipse prisoners had made it back home safely.

On the way, I spotted large Utaru structures in an uncultivated area—a village lost to the wilds in the aggression of new machines. Skydrifters patrolled the village skies, including two Apex variants. I figured I could do the Utaru a favour and clear out the pests, though I mainly wanted to study Hephaestus' new experiments.

The black-armoured Skydrifters were stocked with acid canisters in place of their usual shock coils. An acid arrow to each on the first; spear strike, then hardpoint arrows to the corroded armour. I kept the other Skydrifters off me with coil detonations and my Ropecaster.

Once the first was down, I picked away at the final two machines, keeping away from their flaming tail whips and waves of long-range, little mines with my Pullcaster, latching onto the old village structures. My Spikethrower came in useful too.

Finally downed them all, the herd of Fanghorns long since spooked off into a nearby copse. Good haul, and good data scraped from Hephaestus' machines. Hopefully Gaia can make use of it.

The village altar, tilted, the floor rumpled by up-shooting grasses breaking through the weave. It must have been even more beautiful when inhabited. I hope the Utaru can return here someday.

I rode the short way remaining, making it to Plainsong in the afternoon. Things are seeming a lot calmer now with the nearby rebels driven out and the forces of Hephaestus stopped at their nearest source, if not entirely.

Working the fields, I found Emboh. He told me that Jaxx had returned a couple of days prior with a Tenakth youth in tow, and thanked me for searching for his friend. It was good to hear that the Chorus had allowed Korreh to stay in Plainsong, but by the look of the dead, blighted crops Emboh was attempting to revive, the city might not be a safe place for the youth much longer.

Sure enough, I found Jaxx and Korreh near the city entrance. Korreh had passed the days since his arrival learning to play an Utaru instrument, similar to that carried by Kalae on her pilgrimage. The music was beautiful—deep, earthy, reedy drones, dry winds and deep rumbles. He was utterly transfixed on the music, and Jaxx seemed proud of how quickly he'd adjusted to his new life. I only hope it'll be a long one and that, someday, the Tenakth might learn to value their infirm enough to let him feel the air of his clanlands again.

On my way through, I dropped my Utaru garb off with Gana for a fresh coat of dye, choosing more muted colours suited to desert camouflage. Whether news comes from Gaia or not, I need to head west to seek out the rest of Regalla's rebels and unravel Sylens' mysterious plot before he can do any more damage to the people of these lands.

I found Yef with a group of fellow former slaves sitting by Daen's kitchen. Yef had taken the lead, first in the way back home, and now in the care of his injured people. I could tell he was restless, meant more for a life of exploration and daring feats than tribal rites and bed rest, but life in Eclipse clutches had shaken him, and he was glad now just to breathe and to tend to the scars of body and mind left on their captives.

I shared a meal with the ex-captives, offering as clear answers as they would understand about the Eclipse and their motives, for those who wanted to know. For most, it was enough to know that they were Carja and came to these lands to do as Carja have always done. I didn't press my point.

At the altar, I found Bree. He was planting Kalae's seeds in a basket to sit amongst the other offerings. She was never permitted the chance to speak on this stage as part of the Chorus, and instead would watch from behind, silent with the rest of the blooms of the dead, but it was not all despair. Despite Bree's rage at the corruption that gripped the Chorus, he had continued spreading Kalae's ideas, along with the truth of Kel's shortsighted brutality.

A few more hours spent in the golden light of evening, waiting for Gana's work to be done. One of the Utaru waved me over and offered to paint my face in the style of a Thresher, a symbol of strength and perseverance. Why not?

I need to move on. With the rebels driven out and the flow of Hephaestus' machines stemmed, the Utaru's most pressing problem is starvation. Only repairing Gaia will resolve it. West next, to get to the bottom of Sylens' plans. Until Gaia calls me to action, I'll do what I've always done best: right wrongs, and kill killers.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 21

Cauldron Mu

Behind the door to the Cauldron core, the corridor was threaded with more orange-filled cables. From its oil gleam and consistency, it looked like Purgewater, or at least a component of it.

Sure enough, there was a Widemaw suspended in a light field in the centre of the core, being worked on by a mechanical arm. I set a couple of Purgewater traps between me and the machine, then overrode the core, causing the Cauldron to set its central prize free.

I thought I'd get through unscathed until a second Widemaw charged in. I doused the first, drenched by my traps, in frost bombs and rattled off a braced sharpshot, then a few standard arrows to pierce it while brittle, trying to keep focus on the vulnerable machine while dodging the attacks of its friend.

Once the first was down, I targeted one of the sparkers on the second, and it detonated at the same time as it fired off a glob of Purgewater, knocking me back. I landed well; no harm done. I struck the Widemaw at close range before tying it down and detonating its second power cell. That kept it stunned long enough to tear it apart with my spear and secure the core.

I overrode the core, downloading the overrides that came with the rest of its data, though some were corrupted and would need repair at the RCC lab.

I rode the core platform back up to the surface. A Scrounger was waiting right outside the door just waiting to be overridden with my newly-improved module. I fought the remaining two Scroungers at its side before the machine hacked past the override's effects, and I put it down too.

A Burrower next; a pair of them ran up to investigate the commotion. I overrode one and watched as the pair snapped and swung at each other.

Cute as a Watcher when they're not trying to kill you.

I headed back to my cave of spoils to rest for a few hours. I've missed out on some serious sleep these past couple of days.

I rode to the Oseram camp by the river, trading in my salvage from Shadow's Reach and Cauldron Mu. Steady profit to aid me on the journey further west.

I was hailed over by Gendas and Rushavid, who told me that their hired Oseram delvers had returned to Jagged Deep Dive since I'd cleared out the machines a fortnight past, and offered payment for my efforts. Their returns were good, but diminishing. I told them I hadn't found any further information on Gendas' precious 'tray', which seemed to disappoint the poor guy, who still held the hard drive in delicate reverence.

I made the short journey back up from the banks to Stone's Echo, hoping to find Milu there.

Indeed I did find her, deep in argument with Mian. She was trying to explain that she was not, in fact, a slave of the Carja huntress, but her student. Mian wouldn't listen, going on about the rot and ruin sure to follow barbarous outlanders. Milu cut her losses and came over to speak with me privately.

Unfortunately, Mian wasn't the only one in the village that shared her blind intolerance. Stone's Echo was particularly hostile, Milu said, thanks to its proximity to Riverwatch, from which the Red Raiders had launched their many attacks and dragged their prisoners after defeat. This place saw the worst of Carja brutality, and has not forgotten.

I told Milu about the path through the mountains now opened through the Regional Control Centre. I didn't tell her anything except where to find the entrance, knowing Talanah planned to go alone. I'm hoping she'll find the interior interesting enough to stick around with some coaxing from Varl, maybe even bump into Gaia...but I'm not sure. Her conviction to find this friend of hers seemed absolute.

Milu planned to continue her training far from her bitter little hometown, journeying north to a Hunting Ground north of Plainsong. I wished her luck on her way. She was still quite clearly awestruck by my presence, and when I praised her for being a skilled enough hunter to catch Talanah's attention, I nearly floored the kid. She'll go far, if I end up saving the world.

I stuck around for a meal, then left Stone's Echo in the early evening. The village was right by the trap-laden path said to be frequented by Shellwalker convoys. I still had that contract from Larend stuffed somewhere in my satchel. Whether he'd already sourced the parts from elsewhere or not, as far as I could tell by the clause, he was law-bound to pay up if I delivered.

Hidden in an alcove overlooking the path, I found the world's dustiest campsite. Useful provisions stockpiled, but my rest was fitful as I waited for the convoy to turn up. Still, it was rest, and I needed it.

I woke up covered in red muck to the sound of an approaching Shellwalker and its Burrower escorts.

I let one of the stone trap's loads fall free, crushing the Burrowers, then I was clear to focus fire on the Shellwalker. I snuck around it wearing my Stalker shield, setting an acid trap before landing my first strike. It stumbled into the trap then, and I loosed a few acid arrows to hasten the corroding effect. I stuck with my strategy honed in Cauldron Mu; braced shot to the shield generator, stunning it, then a flurry of explosive spikes to down it in a seething pile.

I collected the plating Larend needed for his armour—interior plating, of course, given the irreparable damage done to its exterior. I'll head back east and hand over the salvage in the morning.

Returning to Stone's Echo, I climbed to the lookout stations on a couple of the rooftops, taking in the vibrant lamp glow and flower beds, the gentle rumbles of Re's machinery at stilted rest.

I final settled down in the communal shelter late into the night. Too much sleeping today; I consider myself well and truly recovered. Now, just to wait for news from Gaia. I can't stand much more of this uncertainty.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 20 (2/2)

Cauldron Mu

It was a daring way of getting down to the core. Maybe too daring; sparks flying, I almost didn't latch properly to the second cable, but it all turned out fine in the end.

Usual Cauldron routine: climbing, overriding, sneaking up on and spearing through machines.

A long stretch of water separated the two sides of the maze standing between me and the core. Power cells cooled in the brew, setting the river ablaze in electric sparks. I made my way along to the other chambers by riding the mechanical arms moving the power cells back and forth between the slots of waiting machines.

A Shellwalker patrolled one of the chambers, loading up its cargo to take who knows where. I swear Hephaestus has been beefing these things up—they're far stronger here than they were back east. I set an acid trap, then got a good strike in undetected, lured it into the trap, fired off another few acid arrows to corrode the thing all over, then took it down with my Spikethrower. All in all, a surprisingly close call. If you let it get off a shock blast at close range, you're done for.

Cable bridges, ill-advised jumps; I was in my element. See, Eclipse and Cauldrons I can deal with by rote. The Zeniths were far from my mind.

There were decent spoils to be had in the Cauldron's many nooks and crannies, provided I smashed my way through. Here's one place the Oseram can't loot.

I dallied in the Cauldron, I'll admit. There was so much good salvage to be found, and very few machines standing in my way. With my haul from this delve and from my excursion to the Eclipse base, I'll have plenty to trade...provided no one happens upon and loots the cave beside the Cauldron entrance where I stashed most of it.

I continued on into the early hours of morning, heading for the core.

[one-of-many-journeys]

Day 20 (1/2)

Shadow's Reach

I entered the inner sanctum of Shadow's Reach, following the source of Vezreh's infernal chatter.

The rest of the Utaru slaves were locked up inside, about six of them. I told them to head outside and find Yef; they'd face no resistance. I saw no other guards inside, there was only Vezreh, obliviously yapping in the chamber beyond.

And, yes, I could have skewered his head from right there in the doorway, but I couldn't resist the opportunity to silence him, watch his expression go slack with shock. I wasn't disappointed, though Vezreh didn't stay stunned for long. Before I could take him on, he pressed something on his little handheld microphone and a Ravager leapt out in front of him, rearing to strike.

As the Ravager reared, I stuck a shock arrow straight into the power cell on its belly. It detonated mid-charge, scattering a stockpile of canisters in a nasty cocktail of sparks and searing acid. I ran forwards, using the Ravager's body as cover from Vezreh's gun fire while I stuck my spear into the stunned machine.

As it shook off the charge, I ran for cover, bursting a barrel of acid as the Ravager charged past and corroding it fully with a more couple acid arrows of my own. The acid ate through its armour quick, and soon enough, it was just me and Vezreh.

I once again used the Ravager as cover, letting Vezreh hammer through his supply of ammunition before letting off a powerful explosive sharpshot. He'd gone and grabbed himself a helmet which meant I had to work a little harder, and though he tried to goad me into facing him head on (gun vs spear, yeah right), I soon obliterated his armour and struck true through flesh.

That was when the goading recommenced. I wanted to kill him up close and personal, just for making me listen to more Shadow Carja drivel. Unfortunately, I forgot about that massive ancient bomb that, against all odds, Vezreh and his goons had managed to resurrect. Its power might have degraded over the centuries, but if it had been built to blow up a hoard of Faro machines, it'd rip through me with ease.

So I ran. I panicked, worse than I had since I heard that damn indenti-scan announce another Elisabet Sobeck at its threshold.

I couldn't die here, not to the damn Eclipse. Not for the sentimental, superstitious urge to look my enemy in the eye.

I didn't even make it to the other end of the chamber before I saw an opportune bit of cover and crouched down, only seconds before the blast.

Fortunately, most of the payload was stocked behind Vezreh in the main complex, and it really must have lost its lustre over the years, because no way was that enough to destroy all the machines that had rusted up outside. So, didn't die. Probably should have. I'd say lesson learned, but I doubt I'll remember it.

I crawled out of the rubble and made it back into the sunlight. Yef was waiting for me there, jumping to my aid, but I held him off while hacking up a lung of dust.

I snooped around the Eclipse barracks a little, going through their data. Vezreh mentioned the other group of cultists he was waiting for from the Daunt and, most crucially, that they were the last. I won't be crossing paths with the Eclipse ever again. He also seemed to have had this whole plan about blowing up the capitals of all five major tribes with the bombs he'd found at this complex. How that was meant to help anyone conquer anything, I couldn't tell you. It was more about having the final word, I think. If we can't have the world, no one can. Their army was far too small for an operation so ambitious anyway.

Yef had already taken the rest of the slaves to safety, including those who'd been inside (and thankfully not caught in the blast). Some of them were too injured to move all that fast, and Yef was worried that more Eclipse might pursue them, but I assured him that these were the last of the cult's dregs. Yef seems capable—strong, despite all he's been through in captivity. I trust him to guide the survivors back to Plainsong.

After thoroughly looting the place, I made the trek out to the cliff side I'd climbed to reach it—and there was my smoking campfire, Utaru hut, and patient mount waiting for me across the way.

I glided over and made the climb, settling down to sleep. It was mid-morning by then.

I slept a little while, waking up in the afternoon. I got back on my mount and rode down into the valley, heading east.

I passed a shallow pool with a sunken Old World tank in the centre. I took a dive and salvaged the scrap, as yet untouched by delvers. There's got to be a fortune worth of salvage left under water, in lands sunken through Gaia's terraforming efforts.

I wanted to explore the ruined roads as well, though given the Oseram caravans that had already passed through, with Talanah's friend in tow, I didn't get my hopes up. Before I could search the area with my Focus, I dispatched the pair of Longlegs strutting around. Usual strategy: power cells with shock arrows, go in for the kill, targeting their bellows if that old one-two doesn't do the trick.

I didn't find much. The delvers had already picked it clean—nothing in the vehicle shells or the Faro bots either. All that remained was rusted through. Oh well, it was worth a look.

I continued back east, veering north slightly to the Cauldron site marked on my Focus. The going will get a whole lot easier once I get my hands on some more machine overrides.

I made it there by evening, resting up in a cave just beside the Cauldron entrance, which was patrolled by Scroungers and Leaplashers. I stocked up as best I could without heavy duty tools. I'd found plenty of parts for explosive ammo back in the Eclipse base, and crafted enough for my Spikethrower and Tripcaster to make a Cauldron delve less daunting.

I left the cave and headed toward the Cauldron door at dusk.

The Leaplashers had cleared out, thankfully. They seem to travel around in packs rather than patrolling in one place. Not Scroungers; they guard their haunts unerringly. I took them out in stealth, then was free to approach the Cauldron entrance and make my way inside.

Cauldron Mu. I traversed the higher reaches, but from what my Focus could pick up, most of the manufacturing facilities were far deeper, more so than your average Cauldron. Much of the cabling inside with full of this thick orange, oily substance.

I soon found a way down into the heart of the Cauldron. All I had to do was slide down a set of loose cables stretched over a basin of oil crackling with electric charge. It was going to be another long night.